High

I am God.
A poem is my power.
With words I can send,
Any other god to Guillotine.

I am the nature of this wintry morning,
When the floor is too cold to tread,
And the bed tea spills over the sheets.

I am a man’s misfortune.
He told me so last night.
Couldn’t care less.

Downstairs, the neighbors howl.
Their morning row of broken vases
And sniveling kids.

The Asian Age declares war.
Titans clash. Marlon Brando
Is tri-sexual, did you know?

I’m getting late. I’ll miss the bus.
Broke. Can’t afford a Rick. I’ll walk.
Say, am I too young to be lucky?

I see my shape in the sky.
That soaring eagle, my winged grit.
That’s me! And the god I know.

Tell me,
Are you still searching
For the god
In you?

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