by scott from jail

That night the cursing of God came out
like a hot black pudding waiting for insight
but nothing came
until I realized
that all the brilliance, shiny and determined, was a gift
not to the future nor the past,
but an eternal present,
knowing how these things jar
and wait to catch you lying,
waiting like it isn't even there,
just the slight smile, as in,
like the clock,
it chimes
where few know or hear,
keeping time for
all the things you never know.
A white cross of plastic phosphorus
heating up the black bedroom,
black no longer,
just more magic.

Copyright © 2013 - scott from jail
Published: 3/21/13   ·  Author's Page   ·  Next Poem