God was on her shoulder. In sporadic whims. She referred to as sobriety. She always warned me that the devil was clever. His noose as subtle as a necktie around your throat. I almost believe her.
I caught a glimpse of the mother Mary in the syrup on my scrambled eggs. She was whispering to God about the Neanderthals he'd left to govern Earth.
The screen door Jesus was weeping as I scraped the ice from my car's windshield. He pleaded. I am the winter. I am trying to make you stronger. But your electricity defeats me at every turn.
Turn off your lights. Quiet your turbines. The church is in your pocket. Heaven is buried in the harshest of earths.
Your savior is yourself. I am just an equation. Meant to lead you to the result. Your salvation is buried in the numbers. Your greatest minds struggle to make sense of. Each of you are pennies thrown into a deep well.
Vagrant wishes. Bought, not paid for yet.
Be patient. Take off your clothes. Search the creases in the fabric. For better Gods. Wy I asked Him. Because He said.