Who reads
	Poems made of tuna,
	Poems chopped
	Like lives
	Into a thousand
	Little pieces,
	To be consumed
	By a hungry Universe
	That feeds
	On our billion billion
	Experiences?
	Are we
	God's surrogates,
	Sent to act out
	Fantasies
	Of the Divine?
	What can we learn
	Not already known?
	Does God like
	To hear us groan?
	How can He,
	If we
	Are part of Him
	And He
	Must hurt
	As much as we?

10/29/80

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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