I don’t think God’s been out here in a long time.
I’ve got my arms stretched out, one’s holding an unlit cigarette,
one’s lazily tracing the city’s skyline.
Alleyways are cradled between buildings.
Each street has a broken dream or two.
Each dream has a bleeding human
they’ve left behind in some smoking wreckage
a street away/ an alley or two down.
Hit and runs, zig-zag scars.
All components of a city’s screams and frowns.
I don’t think God’s been to visit in a few years.
I’ve got my arms stretched out, one’s holding a smoldering cigarette,
one’s trying to count the sky’s years.
They hang suspended, paralyzed raindrops.
Coughing from all the smog drifting up,
sneezing when their dust allergies kick in.
Smoked-up clouds watching them lecherously.
I’d rather count these tears though
than the tears of the lost boys
and girls, forgotten children, disregarded souls.

I don’t think God’s going to return anytime soon.
I’ve got my arms stretched out, one trying to catch a snowdrop,
one forming my very own noose.

I think that so much time has passed since
his or her or their last visit that we
irresponsible, neglectful, selfish, power-hungry
have decided that they are not coming back.
So we’re no longer guests but owners
while the sky cries over his lovers body.
We’re oppressors, destroyers, thieves -but never creators.

I don’t think God’s ever going to come back –
I don’t think they were ever here to begin with.
But there is something ugly waiting -
waiting for the last tree to fall
for the last dying whale to sing its song
for the skyscrapers and metal monsters
to be all that remains.

When the musicians are still merrily singing
about their drugs and alcohol and sex
but with desperation in their eyes
because that really is all that is left.

When the artists are perfectly painting
the human body in all its profound beauty
because everything of real beauty has finally
because of us, ceased to be.

When we are forced to turn to each other
because we have annihilated everything else,
it will loom up from behind the whites of our eyes
and watch the final scene
where we at long last directly destroy ourselves
and it will laugh
in shimmering strains of broken glory.