god was preoccupied that night
playing jacks on the planet:
he bounced the moon again
sweeping up the stars so effortlessly
then the darkness began to swell
seeping through cracks of the blinds
oozing into the bedroom
and dripping from your mouth
didn’t you see me?
no, your teeth don’t work like eyes.
all you wanted was a five course meal
when fate starved your love life,
but there wasn’t a bone on me
made to be picked clean.
i’ve got a mouth too,
and it wasn’t made for a crow to peck.
no, not after i begged please, stop
to both a god and you.
and you’ll die an unceremonial death
laying pathetically on roadside pavement
from preying on the streets.
and if there was a god then,
i pray that he gets a pair of
ovaries and cochlear implants.