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man god said he was God
but that was not
the answer I was
looking for:
far from it

left me with
a broken pen, drained of ink,
trying somehow
to fill in the hole in my poem
hole in my being

vagina that in his infinite wisdom
he wished to, cutting out my heart,
leave for me

as he ascended to Heaven
tacky Elysium of his own limited creation

me, though, his most limited creation
though I have this poem and the
rampant Devil who
spoke and
still speaks

from these lines, through these bars,
outside the gate tightly shut and
locked for
the eternally prodigal

not quite out
of earshot
laughing diabolically but
quietly: yes my divine Other,
rattling your cage
as he laughs
and laughs
at you

in this insane, hopeless space
what more can he do?