To the creator somewhere above all our heads,

they (we) call you
GOD

G   osh
O   h
D   on't we all wish

that we really knew
who/how/what you are
so
we could send you letters, with all the stamps you need, and we could ask all these
?  ?questions?          ? that float                                   ?                      ?                      ?         ?                  ?
float and attach to our finger tips              ?                    ?                        ?­                             ?                    ?
we use whatever we can to smudge it across sur(faces)
like we spilled ink on our hands and we can't get it off
                                        get it off
instead we just end up living with it, learning from it, painting with it
almost as if we believe that we can be artists who
paint in black and white
but there is lots of color too, all settled in between the letters between the
lines
lines and lines of these questions that we try to ask
or get rid of
                                        get rid of
because you know we all just want to make living a little less complicated, a little less
covered in smudges
always trying to make the perfect picture
Perfect.
Like heaven
Heaven
creating our own idea of the word here
just in case we don't find it
later on


I don't really know what to say to
all this air
what I say, well
it just shoots across and hits the wall
smack
waiting, stuck, like a post-it note waits on a desk
I think i'll peel it off and re-read
make sure I meant to say it aloud
then try harder
see, the thing is I ran out of stamps
but that doesn't mean I can't still address a letter and let it
float

GOD

G   osh
O   oh
D    on't we all wish for


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