It would take a miracle

to undo ourselves,

a miracle, not a god,

to transcend the agitation

the dysfunction / the blathering

of sightless faith.

Humanity needs something else

Maybe a mouthful of Belladonna

to scatter its nightshade

throughout our coursing blood

to still the wildness of our nerves

to drown our lungs in dried purple leaves

to drop us, like shipwrecks laid out

along the floor of the sea

ghosts lifting through the mirage

of rescue lights: No Survivors.

The ripened fruit is plentiful

in the orchard of wisdom

and still

most of humanity is like

a bell without a clapper

sort of dumb and pointless

or like an old wet sponge

swollen and dense

/ only / not with water but / with ignorance

And if some god

were to wring us out

and try to remake us

the water would be so russet

so murky and toxic

that some god would say:

'Oops',

and walk away / after tossing

the sponge into some hell.

Then some god

would hide his own failure

somewhere deeply in the sky,

infected water dripping from his hands,

and his dark eyes / themselves /

filled with human turmoil.

---------------------------------------------------------

Nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize for Poetry

from my fourth book, 'The Translator' (Transcendent Zero Press)

"Some god" was first published in 'Deep Tissue Magazine'

then published again in 'Harbinger Asylum Magazine'

©dah / dahlusion 2015 a.r.r