I don’t find fault in the theories of Anaximenes

I don’t find problems with studded stars

I’d imagine God with a glue gun

And pieces of stardust

And imagine myself part of a piece of art

Menagerie sparkling in heaven’s lights.


I don’t find hate in simplicity

I don’t find complexity all that friendly

He turns his head to those gas balls

And will forget about me

But I don’t fancy myself a monkey

Swinging from those lopsided trees


I don’t hate how knowledge is power

But I do hate what we seem to need to do with it

God isn’t colored origami, folded on a shelf

To behold and to cherish, but then be forgotten

If I knew anything, it would be this:

Simplicity does not rotate the world

But I still wish the stars were shining studs.

Shining for me.


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