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 soupà §on 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.
