Three Sonnets [Today God is running late at the bus stop.]

J. David

 

Today God is running late at the bus stop.

There are pigeons parked at the meter on Main
and all they can talk about is capitalism falling
on its face and getting up again like it meant to
fall on its face. And what would it take
to speak the new language we’ve been dreaming of?
Believing the world broken and not blaming God
for anything but the people we should have been?
Every heart a piece of shrapnel laying down
in the cold wet dew and dying. Man-to-God:
To what extent do we suffer and why should I
forgive myself for desiring that which I believed
could save me? I don’t think you understand
how to interrogate structures of power—
you burn them first and question the ashes.


There are pigeons parked at the meter on Main

and God is running late at the bus stop. Today,
all God can talk about is believing the world
not broken, even after falling on its face.
Someone asks—man-to-God: what would it take
for the world to get up again like it meant to
fall on its face? And God says nothing because
to some extent we suffer when we do not speak
the new language we’ve been dreaming of,
everyone charring their hearts and questioning
the ashes—why should I forgive myself for desire?
Blaming God for capitalism and the people
we should have been. I don’t think you understand
structures of power—pieces of shrapnel
laying down in the cold wet dew and dying.


Questioning the ashes—

Why should I forgive myself for desire
when God is running late at the bus stop
because the pigeons have been interrogating
structures of power? I don’t think you understand
what it would take for God to fall on their face
and get back up again like they meant to
talk about laying down in the cold wet dew
and dying. Every heart a piece of shrapnel
from the new language we’ve been dreaming of.
Man-to-God: capitalism is parked at the meter on Main
and I still believe burning it down could save us.
The world isn’t broken because
we suffer, the world is broken
because we believe it better than it is.

 


J. David is from Cleveland, Ohio. They edit Flypaper.