Didn’t Morgan Freeman Play God?


How around supermarkets
In Sri Lanka, there are signs saying
“Don’t Go Silly” meaning not to use “Silly-Silly bags”, 
Which are not biodegradable, and pollutes waste dumps,
And water ways and rivers. Plastic,
A polymer, survives from the Mormon bastion of Utah,
To a pearl-drop island of Sri Lanka,
From big love, to a land of hard love,
While the heart searches the poly-populous counts,
Of its ambient, for a single soul, to just be, for a fraction of time,
Daringly Silly-Silly, two people sillier than Charlie Chaplin,
Riding a tall and large monocycle,
Pedaling one wheel, doing the awkwardly silly
In fine balance.

How beautiful to go silly-silly, sillier than a macaque monkey,
Or a droopy-eared sausage dog,
Or a red nosed circus clown, tumbling from the top,
Of a big-wheeled monocycle, knowing Vaudeville is ceasing to time,
Just like a big rubber wheel, with countless spokes,
Promised for a full eternity. While on a single wheel,
“Charlie” I say, how silly is this; people, silly enough
To think, that monogamy still works – that beautiful monopoly
Of the heart, pledging, a non-biodegradable eternity,
How love makes a silly-silly practice
An onomatopoeia, the strange ways we become
Our own sounds, no longer able
To remain quiet.

How we brush against each other,
Like two bodies, in the most beautiful they can be,
In the imploration of prayer, asking,
Not for a blessing, but a beautiful blissing;
How love, is the corporeal ransom you pay,
To evacuate a larger than life God,
Out of your body, all at once, like you’ve
Detonated God, through the skin stitch
And one by one, all the stitches
Come off; how beautiful, that what God
Sewed together, God tears apart, from the inside.

The truth is, the love garment
That you habitually wear,
On the marriage bed, always comes,
One size smaller, or just maybe,
Love is a growth spurt, becoming one size bigger.
Either way, you try to estimate
The size of god, only to arrive
At an impregnable wall,
Puzzled at how often we compare
Orgasms to the coming of God,
And yet, he is bigger than the universe,
When one star is like a single
Pus filled pimple, on
God’s negro skin.

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