The stars don't fall
unless the world is already ending,
and I can't cry
unless I'm already drowning.
Why do I thank a god for small mercies
when the God I know is an ineffable noumenon?
Perhaps, I've known a part of you, always.
So what's the difference, anyway?
What can I know that Socrates wouldn't mock me for?
What can I have faith in that isn't a teapot?
Why do I remember the dreams of Satan as real
and forget the shaking of my body and the wringing of my soul?
I hate to acknowledge ghosts.
I hate to acknowledge omens.
I hate to acknowledge demons.
I'd rather let them eat me
While I pretend my body rots of its own accord.
This flesh and its electricity
Are just another flash in the pan.