Tuesday, 11 March 2014

a phallus in blue jeans



god went walkabouts. she just packed up her stuff and went. nobody knows exactly where she went but she is gone. gone the way of legends. gone the way of myth. gone. somewhere else. somewhere far away. god doesn't get lonely like you and i. she doesn't feel the hollow pangs of sorrow gnawing like a rat at your stomach lining. she doesn't feel the desolation of guilt hanging heavy in the pit of your guts. she left her hairbrush and her box of trinkets. left her lacy gloves of cloud. left them all behind her and went. thataway. the girls and boys in heaven found them. they had no time for bric-a-brac. they threw them over the edge of the sky. watched them fall like crystallized rain drops. falling to earth in a clatter of pin pricks. shards of diamonds. a splash of jewels to confuse shoes. down onto the heads of peasants and paupers. some paupers are smarter than others. a collective. a co-operative. a conglomerate. saints to sinners. paupers to princes'. the men of tungsten and foil opened a stall. selling bits of rope and truth. the men of wood and brass opened a shop. selling the promise of perpetual youth. slices of heaven cheap at half the price. neatly wrapped and easily swallowed. and it came to pass. through the ticking of time. through the vaudeville of ritual. through the denial of faith. that peasants and paupers. proprietors and princelings. bought salvation with coins and corruption. and made a new god. a god of muscle. a god of stealth. a god of iron with a will of stone. a phallus in blue jeans.




2 comments:

Russell Duffy said...

Old stuff from way back. It is the opening to a short story entitled "The Vagrant God"

charlottejane2002 said...

I'd like the rest of the story please!