Of Men Making Magic

Killing witches did nothing
for Satan's side
Jail is not the auditorium
where Gods cheerleaders
throw their pom-poms around;
spitwads bounce off the moral walls
poking holes in the purgatorium.

Across the tracks the church is full
by now book club fans discuss theoreticals,
hypotheticals, troubadours spin shiny cups and
card tricks, knowing every card stacked
in your deck
making deals,
the full house faces are flushed
out of the heat, in sweet retreat.

In World War We All (mostly) agree
its purpose is based on property
and perceived utility all the while
Heaven becomes swarmed with infantry,
infiltrated and besieged by Heroes
overthrown by horrors and darkness.
Military men like barter chips
that crumble through the slit
the hourglass of invention
that contains all your broken
bones
ashes
Was
When
 On that grave
forever day
a clump, a stall,
not a grain did fall
God noticed
and did nothing;
graciously watching as We
built molehills into mountains
that crumble back into the Sea.
God was content
with this practice in futility
feckless and spinning silently.

"The Forties
and in the desert cold men invented the star." -Franz Wright


Image of painting by Gerrit Dou [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.