These are my words. Press them against your gums.

In the beginning God Sr. made God Jr.
because everyone needs to come
from somewhere.

That means God Sr. just appeared
& that wouldn’t make any sense.

Know this book doesn’t make any sense,
but neither did the first one.

Still, follow me.

Tucking God Jr. into bed, God Sr. tells him
I hope you dream about stupid zombies
instead of martyrs being eaten by lions.
God Jr. is scared of lions because thoughts
of the future are worse than thoughts of the past
when the past is just beginning, like fourteen
lines ago beginning.

You’ll never really love them that much anyway
God Sr. tells Him, words about the martyrs,
not the lions. They pretty much deserve that shit.

The sky is always bloated, constantly held up by strings.

That’s got to be uncomfortable.

God Jr., holding a ball of clay the size
of a lampshade, wishes for two brothers,
pieces of Himself that would be next to Him,
inside pieces of those who formed worse
versions of Him.

Figure that shit out.

The Holy Ghost feels so cramped trying to build
a house from something no bigger than a fist.
To Him, nothing will ever be bloated enough.

Does God Jr. feel the nails through His wrists
while the second part of Him feels it, too?

Does He wish for more pills
while I wish no more pills, please?

I am quitting every drug that doesn’t get wet
when turned on.

There is nothing natural about a disaster.

Elephants, I am sorry you only have a little while left.

Eventually Kentucky will be beachfront property.

The biggest thing I am wondering is, how did space
gas get so goddamn beautiful?

— Gregory Sherl

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