When everything was accounted for
you rummaged through my bag to find
something offensive: a revolver,
a notebook of misinterpreted text.
I'm God's professor.
His eyes two open ovens.
He has a physical body
and it hiccups and blesses.
Tell me a story before the mudslide,
tell it fast before the house falls,
before it withers in the frost, before
it dozes off next to the television.
I couldn't tell if it was that screen
or the sky spitting dust and light.