the Random God

His trial-and-error hand
sculpts gray neon city-scapes,
chisels ice paintings on our windows,
and blesses the storm clouds
in thunderous song...
watering his anarchic garden
oblivious to our cave-trapped misery...
pitting decorous man against amorous beast,
making us bread from barbarous yeast,
giving us troubles
till we're grateful for at least:
hungry but contemptuous
of the proffered beggar's feast,
bitter owners of wasted educations...
we pray for Roman drachmas
and better philistine stations,
but receive instead the strangest manna
carried by those odd souls
the random storm brings to our hearths,
our used worn hearts,
our porn-confused beds...
till we learn to dance again
to break hard-won bread,
to fear the whale and bear the yoke,
to embrace the "dysfunctional."

We are forgiven with slowly won love...
and thus we burn candles
to the sanctified chromosome,
to the brave mutation
and the brutal memes of Rome,
to the factual and the inscrutable
to the plane-conquered heavens
and the endless grid creation below