Friday, June 21, 2024

When God Cries Tears of Grass

For all the questions I can’t ask
God cuts me with a blade of grass

I imitate turmoil
God imitates interest

But there are no dollar signs in my doorway

Believe me, I have looked
And God checks behind me
Then God tells me, “It seems like there is nothing there”

I have imitated all the cowards of America
Still, there are no dollars in my caste

For all the questions I can’t ask
God cuts me with a blade of grass