The only truth is
Touch, smell, survival
Let go of the need to think about
What has been said, what words
Need to be retrieved or repaired.
What kind of progression is this anyway?
Am I being genuine in my love and praise
Of the sparrow
Am I playing up to a god I don’t recognize
By the Word, but by the evidence of the
Creation–all green foundation
And blue raging borders.
Why language and the complexity of love?
Why grow past the oral stage and its
Is this really what dominion is all about,
Failure towards everything we were
Put in charge of, which continues on
In spite of and around us?
Are there still days, after the flood
When you think maybe
You have created a monster?