god’s mother is waiting. She sits in her room, stares out in the darkness, measures the passing
of time by the passing of trains.
god’s mother is patient. She feeds the small black birds by hand, their eyes flash sideways,
their sharp beaks are gentle.
god’s mother understands – she visits the mothers of sinners in hell, promises to talk to her son
to win them some remission
god’s mother wears three links of chain, the weight of her tears would snap the back
of an already weeping world.
god’s mistress is an atheist, she lies motionless as god fucks her, fingering the jewels
he showers her with each day.
god’s mistress is impassive as she douches her womb of his children, she washes them out
as the sins of her hand
god’s mistress flirts with angels, they all want her but none will touch her, fearing
god’s limitless wrath
god’s mistress knows he will kill her, a pillar of salt, fire from the sky, she pities god’s wife
and she pities god’s child.
god’s whore knows his secrets, see his sickness, hears his confession and soaks up rage and
dark, rank hubris
god’s whore feels him shrink and shiver as he fades into the dimness, little by little,
a receding ghost, a lost voice
god’s whore lets him slap her around a little, lets him get back that feeling there is something
that will yet abide his will.
god’s whore takes his money, feeds his pride and listens to him weep over the never ending
god’s wife is tired. Her hands are raw and red. She gets nervous and ill tempered around
jews and epileptics.
god’s wife is lonely. Staring at an empty chair. Listening for a footstep, for a whisper, for a
sign that she is now a widow.
god’s wife is angry. she is the vessel that keeps the count of the promises he forgot
he made, or never meant to keep.
god’s wife is longing. For death and deliverance, for an end to the terror. For an end to the
wondering and pain.
god’s wife is tired.