Shortly after golems of amorphous forms
trudged into ordered parallels beneath the breadth
of groin vaults and intersecting thumbnails,

I walked along the fray of mirrored archways
examining the differences in the fissures of mounded earth,
trying to find one I had seen in the years
of past lives from those I had met.

But I had learned that in creation,
they had never
been made to be the same.



God could keep his purpose.
He could take every
Expounding great nothing,
Every exonerating. restraining,
Distortion in beauty’s anamorphosis,
Evolutionary or mutation,
He could take these things
And shove it up his omniscient ass.

Oh yes,
It’s purpose.
But this purpose
Can go fuck itself.