The God’s Truth

Moments really have no motion.
You can pretend the day proceeds,
But all you ever really note
Is that this moment’s different.

And that’s where you’re content to live—
If not content, indifferent—
In the middle of the little
Singing that this is different.

Every so often you’re startled
To realize how little’s changed
Except clocks and fairy numbers,
Especially when you’re locked in,

Away from the Earth’s rotation
That rolls in constant difference
Like a dog rolling in the dirt,
Dumb old wriggling, tongue-lolling Earth.

If you’re down in the labyrinth
Where only coordinated
Lighting gets pumped in—offices,
Classrooms, hospitals, and prisons,

The intestines of casinos
Digesting you with slot machines—
You may not notice anything,
Being closer to God’s truth then.