Seventh Day Sonnet
by John Kendall Hawkins
God must have faltered on the Seventh day
like some old man looking in the rye glass
for the Big Bang he left behind. No way
these time-twisted events have come to pass.
Old now, long past his days of electric
persuasion, just another sh*t-kicker,
a soupçon Andy Warhol eccentric,
stuck on his rocker with a bad ticker.
Why have you forsaken me? day and night,
like a trippy echo down the hallway
of an opium parlor. He can't fight
the cathedral high he feels, hears Jahveh.
Memory is a lapsed confessional
you never leave. See a professional.