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