The Fury Of God's Good-bye

One day He

tipped His top hat

and walked

out of the room,

ending the arguement.

He stomped off


I don't give guarentees.

I was left

quite alone

using up the darkenss.

I rolled up

my sweater,

up into a ball,

and took it

to bed with me,

a kind of stand-in

for God,

what washerwoman

who walks out

when you're clean

but not ironed.

When I woke up

the sweater

had turned to

bricks of gold.

I'd won the world

but like a

forsaken explorer,

I'd lost

my map.


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