Today God wears pajamas.
God is world-weary and hides in a fort of blankets.
Perhaps tomorrow debts can be repaid
And everything will somehow be okay this time,
But for now, God could use a cup of soup
And a God of God’s own.
Perhaps a Dog, because this jaded world seems
Like perhaps it was made backward,
Because nothing seems to fit,
Like a stretched knit and square pegs
And a lost sweater God grew out of.
Perhaps today it will rain, reign grey
And align the storms in an angry sky
That’ll smoke out the worms from the mud.

Today God wears pajamas.
God hopes the universe can rule itself this time,
But the world is cruel when its left
With only a mirror and its own whims.
It’s hard not to be tired with
A universe rotting from the inside out.
The worms peak out from their feast.
For a moment, God forgets to breathe.
Does God need to breathe?
It’s difficult to remember when your name
Is Always and your age is Time
And the final stage of Never has a curtain call
For the one-person show made up
Of a God that wears pajamas.