Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Sharp Corners

she sees god in every corner. wherever it is dark. like residue on a chalkboard. the message is still there.

she yells. imagining him listening. cognizant of the frustration in her voice. thumb tacks underfoot as he struts. hands clasped behind his back. head nodding. as if to indicate he understands. those stubborn insects in the shadow of his path.

in every corner she sees him. in every catastrophe she feels his breath. a blundering giant. stumbling to build mazes ever more elaborate. the lonely scientist. infuriated by the intelligence of his rats.

a child with matches. bored with its toys.