god must be in bed
god must be in bed
by reed posey
Insane rhythm less roofers
Nailing shingles
To the morning of the skull
Psychiatric Lawnmen
Mowing mazes
Right outside the windows of eternity
Laboratory Brain Monkeys
Beating Shakespeare
Into infinite electric typewriters
Savage Savage City Bus
Belching gravel sounds and Hell-guts
Every 7 ½ minutes
Inches from the heads of sleeping babies
And sad-angel young mothers
Soulless young couple
Latching the Jap-slap kiss of SUV doors
Returning home from yet ANOTHER shopping trip
Hungry air conditioners
Growling atom bombs
Inches from the heads of our own sleeping lovelies
And thus reaffirming their stoic necessity
In beating off the hot hot Devil-sun of Texas
Our own angry refrigerator
Whose staggered babble talk
Beckons inquiry from those lost children of Purgatory
The telemarketers
Phones ringing even now
At this hour
An hour which I’m told
Is less under the watch of God
Than the ones in which Wall Street is open
The Final Bell Sounded hours ago
Wall Street is closed
God is in bed
His eyes are half-open
And His head rests silent on a pillow of clouds
brilliance. I wish I had written this.
This is pretty good. Don’t change anything.
I don’t think i’ve ever read anything of Posey’s this long and intense…mostly short pieces or art-work or graphic photos from bike accidents (which i all enjoy). But this poem was particularly above and beyond everything else, at least to me personally. There is a telling grip of craft here that augers the mind and pleases the inner ear. I’ve often heard that God is dead, but never that he’s in bed. Nice originality! This would make a good poem for the next printed issue in my opinion. Thanks!