More in Cats with Opposed Thumbs, Chalices of Mucus, and Several other Oddities to Avoid Whilst Poeting
the burden of options
Eleven pounds of faith, heated to 892 degrees celsius
then smoothed and polished with a hard mind, is all
it takes in this nasty little corporeal universe to reflect.
the souless thoughts back out to the void of heaven.
This futureless life is such a simple no-damned-place where
bold choices between this and that make no real mess.
Yet, even here on warming earth, such wanton coolness
is the sad nowhere of stage lights and perky little voices
wallowing in the strong birth of not quite snort-funny.
It is there to think we are gods. It is the only just enough
for the breaded bits of our own dark starless creation
to wage our growing numbers in a war of good verses
goodish people we might meet. Who knows each wrong
takes notes on the tanned hides of our deeds, and for life
short and unpleasing for every god's sake, sings the hymns
that will weight so much more than our meager helping of faith.
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