All the wrong places

God in the hangover Trembling a little Trying to ignore the existential itch Flooded with a solipsistic sort of love, and with panic Ready, but mostly unable, to talk

God in the alibis Sifting them, but only as an afterthought

In the cockroaches and the maggots and the gangrene Even if I have to retch and cry and flee

In the lapse - Though could you blame the faithful Their separatist inclinations?

In the {redacted}, {redacted}

In the sepia The monochrome The lost degrees of freedom

In the binge eating The singularity of disgusting purpose One provides a running commentary Ever fascinated By this basic bug in its own programming

In a spurned gift – doubtless not meant that way

God in the cooling body, dead in the tomb

In the beeps the microwave makes When it's done its work And I'm yet to attend

In the car stopping just a little later than it should as you cross

In building the foundations For another round of repentance

In the whispers, in the chitinous clicking sounds

In the dryness and the lukewarmness

In the parking fines And the self-righteous rage At petty inconveniences

Should I see just what's here And not some holy light?

In the ceramic Left a little too close to the stovetop That you pick up

In just ten more minutes of procrastination

In the gossip, the mildest of betrayals Inconsequential Probably

Best not chase this dragon Just make allowance For being found here