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There Is No God

if he passes too quickly to be seen,
or if she chooses not to appear at all,
because stage time is not valued
beyond fucking for the first time,
or talking quiet lies
to discover a sense of truth—
some innocent killing to garner
prime time interest on the evening news.

This,
the only role where everyone watches,
to blur instantaneously, moments
filtering into a dimension of
lapsing time, gazing for a way
to prove clarity, insightfulness,
more than imagination,
more than a storybook ending,
more than knowing of
love and power and vengeance.

Your god is more than simply
how the stars are aligned.

My god fucks only in absolutes
and does not write poetry,
because life is too precious
to waste on words.

These are the dreams of callow men—
hoping for shooting stars to greet
their arsenal of fantasy,
pillaging thoughts
to wander through perfection,
while holy Love loses her smile.

I am no greater than
YOU
are no greater than
the scent of the Earth
before it rains,
or the taste of liquor
after termination.

But if my god were to stop for a moment,
and if your god found sanctity in miracles—
there would be no more hate, killing, and greed,
no need for love, anger, and madness,
no more curiosity, wonder, or happiness.
Life would be as exciting as
the last grain of sand
in the Mohave desert.

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Dan Robaczewski
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