Insects and god.

Down at the pond

A creature has lost his skates

And legs are threads 

In the weight of water.

Gods watch another fall 

But he is wiser than they, 

Fights without a painted sky, 

Clear as can be 

In the task of life

And posessor of a body

Which took this moment

To flail, fail 

And sail over to Nowhere.

Flushed and broken and

Tangled like string, I too

Watch his quiet tragedy.

The serene terror of nature

Can only repeat, 

Note gaping spasms in the

Crook of air between us, and we 

Verge on laughter here,

On this tranquil battlefield 

Where unbelievers hop and fall, noble eyes

Unpleading to some fragrant air, and

Voyeurs twist and burn, hands 

Born upwards to the Home of

The Father, the King of all Voyeurs. 

We can only paw at dry sand

In casting him as metal function

Below the lifting lights of love, 

For we're skewed through 

By the gall of civil chaos

Divined by dreamed-up powers,

And the luscious narratives of each

Accursed subaltern 

Are far off stars

To the amateur's telescope;

Tears in a sea

That comes to no end.