Maybe it was the bear on the porch. Minor miracles. If there can be such a thing. Perhaps it was the chocolate on my lips as the summer sun brought my insides to a boil.
God laid down in my bed. As ill kempt as it was. He said. Wake up. Right where you are. As you have been. Teasing the portal. That flexible membrane between words and skin. That the foolish call heaven.
Don't sleep. Time is too fickle to remember you. Don't touch. Feel. All the angels in your drug. A million empty pens gauging the paper.
Satan is always an asset. When you're sober. God is always a liability when you're not.