God,
I have found you
you were stuck between the cushions
between bits of lint and chewed up gum.
You let out a scream
when I grabbed to free your form.
And I screamed too,
for I know no other command.
I looked for god in heaps of scrap metal
and in bowls of soup.
I focused on the emptiness of the thing.
He told me to breathe,
and inside I turned blue.
Stuffed within a thoughtless form,
how might he ponder of the alms and aves
of the wearied, skyless prophet?
How might he free himself from ease?
Throw himself to folly?
On the day of our baptism,
We will pour iodine to clean our wounds
and rid our tormenters of sleep.
We will bury our dead amid soiled salutations
And borrowed surrenders.
I have found god amongst the dregs
of soured milk
and in the listless elastic
of second hand gym shorts.
I have found God,
But he
has turned
away.
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