She argues with the thunder. Scribblling on god's wrist. Small songs. Telling stories. In a panic of when. Drawing picutres in a chaos of tomorrows. Everything staring out huge and constantly getting smaller.
Tracing the silence. A soft face in the hard of the darkness. The smirk of his mercy ignites her fury. The irony of touch. Ritual satire. Habitual sacrafice. The simple idea that alone is all we've ever been. More freedom than we can stand.
I'm not looking. I won't see. When we've solved the mazed. Spoiled the science of being lost.
The yawn of the sky. The gasp of the downpour. Hungry deserts. Relentless oceans. Everything about this world is always trying to swallow us.
And maybe it will.
But not before it's choked on our flesh.
God saves the whore. The rest of us are on our own.