Take it from God or Dr. Frankenstein
when you create something
that’s when the trouble starts
The monster lives
a replica of its creator
if it’s a song or a universe
if it’s a book or a blonde or a galaxy
or a man assembled from stolen parts
or a house or a cake or a parachute
creation is where the trouble starts
Giving Birth
It’s never a pleasant affair.
Blood and moaning in the infant morning
mucous and deep breaths.
no, not a pleasing thing
and who knows if it is worth it in the end?
but If your babies are mere flesh it is easier.
Rue the day when you give birth to a poem
or an invention or a song.
The birth of a mule is astonishing to god
a creature unique, never created
imagination’s mutant offspring
reverse engineered by Necessity.
The monster was misunderstood, you see
the good Dr. did the best he could
with a hank of hair and a piece of bone
a handful of clay and a breath alone
all issue is a replication of the artist
so, God must be imperfect like Frankenstein
the universe has stitches across the forehead
and electrodes on the neck, but it lives, it lives
When Jack Kerouac was my age, he was dead already.
The universe is not perfect, why should we expect God to be?
If God doesn’t edit, then why do things keep changing?
These are questions that both Kerouac and Frankenstein asked.
I wouldn’t give you a dime for a God without faults
did he say, “Oops, I created hurricanes and polio?”
I don’t think so. God is not perfect, he only thinks He is.
If he was perfect, how could he have created us?
In His Own Image
