Playing the Indian Card

Friday, November 25, 2016

Pas le Dieu des Philosophes

Sure I had met God before:
Puking in dark alleyways,
Begging in streets;
Doing time for molestation;
In a fashion, climbing Anselm’s ladder;
In the spinning galaxies,
In the dawn,
Or fishing with a silver thread
In the secret sweetness of the night. 
But it was the thunderbolt this time.
This time it was the electric flame.
God blew off the top of my head,
And left it open forever to the sky. 
And I a shivering idiot
Knew in horror I could never again be alone. 
And ever since
At intervals a great bird comes;
Pecks at my brains
Scattering sparks;
And craps poetry into my empty skull.

-- Stephen K. Roney

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