lens of god

at the stretches / vast edges of the universe
touching blurry cusps of existence
life wriggles from behind a telescope
and sits down at the desk
to write. in this moment
evidence of a beauty
(who has gone
away.)
	bending with the curve
of time. the secrets of the moon.
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a touch of heat

i come here to write and only
i don't really know why
but sometimes there is a feeling
deep in the pit of my gut

and what results when i put finger to key
or pen to page
is simply some approximation of greatness
just a sliver, a hair, a microscopic granular
diamond...


it's moments like these that have me wonder
if we really are the image of God-
but a fingerprint, a shape,
a chemi-coded, oil outline
of three dimensions...


a touch of heat in the darkness of space