DARK OBJECTION
Owl hoot calls back. Night goes languid.
Dark the ink-black sky. My two arms enfold
another place : the card-shock motivation of
a distant past. It's been said, Augustine probably
again, that all the absence of God is by design -
in that the absence makes us think of 'Him' as
present by being absent. Whatever the hell that
stupid, wry monk meant matters little now to me.
I'm infested instead, and just like I said - another
fey trick by a trickier God. Wants me to believe
by His absence He's here? Even a hoot owl calls
back to me better than that. Night goes languid
under such pathetic care.
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