The G_d around me and not the G_d I am
tapped twice on my shoulder before the storm hit
In rumbles calling for home sanctuary
You must rest, that G_d said
I laughed, for the tempest brewed up
Free merriment
Mid-Manhattan debauchery with workers of the same
Taxing
Grey
And promising
Edifice of scholarly promise for young bilingual students
But the G_d around me called harder
Shook my stomach
Twisted my intestines
Yet I mistook it for a bad sandwich in my system
The storm approached quietly
But so fast I ran from it
When I finally stopped in the crowd
The rain came in the form of
Heart-wretched misunderstandings
Siblings deeper in lechery than literature
And somewhere on an American peninsula
A father lays helpless
An artificial lung attached to his natural one
Even his begotten son visits him
And reports it to the G_d within
But alas, on the third day after the G_d around called
I was left with water up to my ankles
Ducts dug deep into my facial crevices
And a fire and a blanket to send out this flash flood warning …
© Jose Vilson 2007
jose, who still has no idea how to start his award-winning book (HA!)