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.