Friday, July 29, 2011

He is a sordid little god,

and unshaven,
spitting and scratching as
he shambles through streets ankle-deep in trash
and dog shit,
covered with scars
of uncertain origin,
and looking out at the world with yellowed crocodile eyes.
He is the god of unanswered prayers
and crumpled hopes, the god of
"oh well"
and "I'm sorry, we did all we could",
the god of drawing the knife up the river
(rather than across the stream),
the god of "I can't make it stop"
and "we're too late",
a semi-toothless carnival worker/rodeo clown/pimp of a god,
stubbing out lives
like cigarette butts,
and tearing dreams out of fools
like a slaughterhouse worker
gutting a pig carcass.
He's not all shiny and pretty like the one
that lives on Mt. Sinai,
but he gives as well as he gets,
and more often than not
he kicks his cousin's ass without even breathing hard.

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