I know a scared God
(I've seen a scared God)
A living-way-up-there God

Slumped outside our orbit of violence
We're wishing you just cared God

Upside while I'm downtown screaming:
YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FAIR GOD

You're hiding up in nitrous heavens
A help-only-if-you-dare God

As our sins slip into the water supply
You've given us nothing to bathe in God

These California fires; these 2 a.m. stabbings
All this suffering isn't rare God

With nothing else to live up to
I guess we have to wear god.

The mechanism of my body is ticking away the moments:
clinical seconds, dehydrated hours, years washed too clean.

The orbit of my ribs makes its rounds with momentous clicking
felt as a ripple- a forte into seizure.

There's something industrial in the alignment of these organs:
A factory of ventricles straining against the assembly line.

I'm a blood clock, tragic motor; I'm an organism
too mechanical to hold.

With a liver like a coal burner and lungs to expel the smoke,
how can I find a way back to being human.

You're miles apart from
God, I know, but I see the
Divinity in

your careful silences
bottled tight insight
tight-lipped smiles.

I need to stop there.
Stop these abundant
love poems about the sorrows

I cannot fix

I wish I bled messy, black ink
to spill on your computer-coded fingers,
to blot out your terabyte blue eyes
from looking down at me.

I don't know differential calculus
and your ribs are engraved with unknowable equations
unsolvable to me, though I hear them
whispering to your heart in the quiet mornings.

I wish I understood the sighs
that fall from your logarithmic lungs
as they labor so intensely
to inflate your data ridden body.

Beryllium, Lithium, Nitrogen, Carbon
spill out of you like names of lost lovers
but they never sound so entrancing
on my own poetry-stained lips.

So while you chant them like worship
I'll be searching for divinity in those no-use words:
Incendiary, Ventricles, Ancillary, Phantasmagoria.
They fall from my mouth easier than even your name.

The deepness in your voice echoes outer space
Both vast and complicated
cold and distant
deep and so, so far away.

I can't touch you.

Birds of a feather flock together in the sultry atmosphere, whirring in and out of crepuscular clouds as if it were nothing special. feathers more like needles blacked under the godless face of the wind. The cliff's voice clings to their sun-smeared backs, reminds them of his own position on an empty, red planet and they sing back that gravity lament. The sky goes on about the lovely morning air and sunlight marches when all birds want is a place to lie down from that brittle flight, to rest their hollow bones filled with a lost longing.

Midday and the whisper of a chill rode the end of the breeze.
****** feet and a restless tongue; You never knew how to hurt me.
I didn’t know much about human anatomy but I could read charts
of the spine, heart, ribs, where are the unconventional entrances.
I decided on the space between the third and the fourth rib.
Dug in as hard as I could.