More everything....

RIGHT NOW.

Sexual encounters dusting off the meatworks in shallow alleys quiet then loud then quiet for a long time then walking home listening to your footsteps imagining somebody creeping up on you. But you're still a bit alone even when you pass people in the streets, even when you're talking to your best friends and surrounded by everyone you know, alright. It's a strange love that one that you got given. You read books about God and his great deeds and you wonder how it could be possible that the greatness that made the earth also at one point paid attention to the way your hand feels when you masturbate, or the subtle flavor of her sexual organs choking against your face, or the way your ears get warm when you imagine violence. What sort of wastrel this God of mine, what sort of strange little child, old man with time-worn blistered and disgusting hands. He's blind from the details of my skin cells, that's why comets crash into Jupiter and no one can make any sense of the structure of the universe. Oh but I love him, alright, and I love you too. We're all of us a bit preoccupied this time around. It's alright I forgive you. And you forgive me too.