There Is No God and We Are His Prophets
The empty bus stops
doors crack open and close
a schedule becomes its own ritual.
Bug zapper humming
over frozen earth
a pattern does not require design.
Sweeping grit
under chlorine film
motion is not destiny.
Alarm ringing
beside overturned pills
we can only name the end.
The empty bus stops
doors crack open and close
a schedule becomes its own ritual.
Bug zapper humming
over frozen earth
a pattern does not require design.
Sweeping grit
under chlorine film
motion is not destiny.
Alarm ringing
beside overturned pills
we can only name the end.
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson