written By
O Lord, methinks I’ll call you Lord. Are you
Affixed up there on high, or somewhere else?
And us lowdown in murk mistaking blue
Above as heaven, hell beneath cool grass.
It matters not to me, as I assume
Some gods cannot exist except in dreams,
In trifling songs. I guess most folks presume
To hear from you by way of simple hymns
Or over-the-counter meds hallucinations.
My mood’s been altered by rum. I’d like to mellow
And spy just once, you, big fellow. Creations
Upon creations! So, might I feast on crow?
This bottle’s full of nothing. I’ll say good night
And find the faith to know you’ll get the lights.
