i could trace the atheist breadcrumbs that followed my shadow
all the way from the hospital to my armchair to my deathbed
caught in the bleach-white snow; it would be beautiful.
but the ringing of mobile telephones conquer the faint buzz of conversation
it's getting increasingly harder to distance myself
from the lullaby of newspaper choruses; the headlines ring out
'sell yourself and sell each other'
verse after stanza after verse etcetera.
so perhaps one day i too will find myself under a table
clutching a binder that reads frantic scribbles
'god is nowhere. god is now here'
in a hail of fictional bullets & literary revelations
would it be so bad? if nothing else, an escape from
another night of clutching the television remote like a bible
scratching for answers amongst 'celebrity sex island exploitation hour!'
and a million disclaimers telling me i'm going straight to hell
amen.