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.
