if i gave you seven days, could you be god?
i never thought a day to rest worthwhile.
see, six aren’t enough to write the world’s equation
and you won’t conceive another option of creation.
dance first dazzling (after you make dance and dazzle and first),
thinking and dropping five basics before recipe includes each.
stars love sea home crash.
from stars find connect-the-dots, soul, legend, blood and birth.
soul + blood = birth of man.
now love makes mess and bricks to the backs
of hairless heads.
sea sustain. drop to drink. drown dented skulls float
home. crash culture, dishes, daddy just hit mommy at the
dinner table, but don’t speak or dessert smears the wall.
how many parentheses does it take to contain?
pages, pens, playful layers of fractals?
is god too big now?
can you do the math?
He wondered aloud the possibility
Of earning merit badges for poop.
You get them for helping old ladies
Cross the street; why not for taking
An exceptional dump? Or for discovering
The defecatory habits of squirrels? Or
For playing archeologist and excavating
The return of that penny
You swallowed when you were five
Hanging upside-down on your bed
And knew better than to put coins in
Your mouth but liked the taste of copper?
I told him about a minister I knew
Who preached that love is imagining
Your other on the pot, and loving
Him the same. We smiled,
Telepathizing queries about God’s shit.