I want your God.
Enormous,
Constant,
Terrible.
Terrible.
I want the rules.
My God whimpers
in corners where dust gathers,
sighs as the days conspire
with dusk.
We barely know each other.
We barely know each other.
It doesn't seem worth the effort.
Your God,
Your God,
Your God roars,
commands your filthy soul
and you obey.
He inspires such things.
He is like a sibling's
He is like a sibling's
shiny new bike,
spokes ablaze and
ribboned handlebars.
I want a shot.
I want to hurtle,
I want to hurtle,
a million miles an hour
with my coat hanging
from my shoulders,
popping wheelies
off the kerb
and know that
if I fall,
it never was
and never will be
my fault.
