huck

Problem of Evil


every time I looked into
the corner of a darkened room
waiting for Satan's amdram
to deliver its line between fact
and truth - the red crack in our
chequered curtain - part of me
turned its back on this world
but

whenever I held a knife, and
explored its whispers of light
I was complicit in preserving
the silence of the house
for reasons I'd received
in reflections
but

while wallowing in moral muck
with one eye on my audience
whose mouths I tried to touch
the other eye was groping for
a weakness in the earth
that gave entrance to a place
from which my soul
would not escape
but
       there was never anything
       was never anything there