Wine to Water

by jerrontables

 

It strikes me as

silly

that just as we

turn the tamed

(rake the land; torch and claim),

we stake the

universe

as our own and

(cocksured decoding)

piecemeal the stitching of God

as a fourth-rate guess completely out of some context never known–like a three-year-old playing the lottery and, under every exclamation to the contrary, insisting that he’s won.

 

Confetti.

Cookies on the house.

 

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