I remember a joke about dyslexic atheists,
But today they won’t even acknowledge Dog (much
less renounce Him!) They’re the dogged defenders
of no-Dog. It’s playing words, how some words
can lead you through woods. The woods are
lovely, you said. And now you sit in the
back, lighting fires, heckling a poet.
Why don’t you get up here? See
what it’s like to stand before a crowd
primed with all the hallowed, hollow words
you wrote long ago. See where your
two diverging roads will take you now,
in this vast wasteland of verse where no
one reads and no one watches, with
the likes of you taunting the rest of us,
the rest of us who have to live in the
crumbling ivory tower that you
built. The straitjacket of us all.