The God I Met
Yesterday afternoon, I met a god
carved from the stone rivets that built his ledge.
Three perverse planets dance upon his back;
two more prefer to heave him off the edge.
His girl tattooed her name across his chest,
but that's the only thing she'll ever be.
No razor's up to scratch, so he can't shave
and can't see that he doesn't know to see
except perhaps to stare at yesterday,
with bits of now sporadically entwined.
Tomorrow kicks between planets' dancesteps,
but he has no mind, so he'll never mind.
It's past him to care who stays or who goes,
but you believe. He's a god; that much he knows.
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