Theological Flight

nihilism nibbles like a marmot in the nuts
gnawing away the hard exterior
in a concentrated effort to get at the kernel –
the accreted black pearl of being –
to bleach it white like baked dogshit in daylight
as the universe expands to our blossoming knowledge
we whither and die
the hideous god of Abraham was right
to forbid it of its playthings in the garden
but to grow as a species
indeed to understand ourselves as one of many animals
that fruit was the toll
and now we suffer:
displacement, discouragement, disarray,
of course, to the wise and trusted
theologian, that first pair of pastoral persons
in their shameless nudity
is metaphor, but even if it is
that doesn’t mean gods don’t condemn it
in the case of fact vs. faith – the supernatural takes sides
all of this is nothing
suns and stars burn to cold densities
beating hearts pump their last
even when the last is green corrosive alien blood
nothing gets a reprieve
science eats our fictions
science is the marmot
fiction is the nutcase
and here we are inside
helpless against those dreadful teeth
that bring unhappy pain – big and small –
from the infinite to the tiniest string of the theory
we get stuck in the middle
between the wolf pack and the canyon’s edge
our future is a 50/50 certainty
until we learn to fly


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