There are constellations in me.

I fell into a vat of radioactive space dust and have been this way ever since. My power is that I appear completely powerless to you. The truth, however, is that I can see the crumbly seams of the stars, I can hear the rush of electrons in every one of your atoms (it's quite loud), I can stir things up inside your soul and you won't even realize it until one day you wake up and wonder what happened to the boy or girl that you once were. I can blow kisses at the back of your neck.

Friday, October 17, 2008

The Difference

Jesus—
Is blurted aloud
when a dollface shakes her thing across
Madison Ave.
Men turned to gelatin
in their Lexuses
or work vans,
all say:
Jesus.

God—
You say to yourself.
God, God, God.
In the catacomb of your apartment,
your prayers keep the phone from ringing.
Keep the voice from saying
what your heart
can't bear.
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Sincere as well-intentioned lies.

That is all.