On The Seventh Day

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On The Seventh Day

On the seventh day
god rested but the serpent
did not. He set about

making mortuaries & the clink
of ice inside a glass
of bourbon, each hushed

by the deep tao
of their own weary
obsolescence. Unexpectedly,

he mamboed past Security
& into the great
word press. He began

printing bones
on the backs of stars,
then the effortless

wisdom of fortune cookies.
Lastly, for himself, a desk calendar.
This year, he decided,

penciling it in,
would be the year
of the snake.

Hello Fearful Symmetry,

I quite like this as is.  On first reading, I was a bit put off by third stanza, e.g. taking the name of the Tao in vain, but I'm over that now.  It pulls the reader along and into its wry worldview to a satisfying ending.  My only suggestion is to capitalize God and Tao and maybe even Serpent.

I interpret poems in my heart, not my head, and this one is both fun and serious at the same time, and hit me where I live.  I have no idea what "printing bones/on the backs of stars" means, but I don't care because its my favorite bit, although almost every stanza has something I wish I had written.

TqB