Against the Parts of Me That Think They Know Anything
They want to put out the light of God with their mouths—want, like the sovereignty of the dead, extending just short of flesh. Theirtoday is broken, they suggest tomorrow, who right now is dancing in the sun withputty over his eyes. Like an ocean coughing up trash, I’m squeezing Godout from my pores, intention throbbing like a moon. Which ofthe jokes I told was best—the difference between man and light?Light won’t ask for your tongue. Good joke, the taste of lemon.
