If God ever realized
he made a mistake
in the way He set up
death and suffering
it would be awkward for Him
He would have to look
deeply into the billion eyes
of what He created
and beg for forgiveness
one face at a time
up all night writing because I wanted some sparkling revelation to offer this morning but words failed and I have nothing to show but the sloppy stains of scribbles and cross-outs maybe I'll learn som
truth aches when an overread book is continually misunderstood or when a love that needs to shout is left to linger unspoken on lips
to this swirling existence we write about so why not dabble in the dialect and points of view? use solitary clouds and footprints fresh stains and old smells the embraces of snakes turn words upside d