Give It a Rest

So God sits down
on the Seventh Day
to rest,
(though Time is of no Essence.)
Cup of coffee and
cinnamon roll in hand,
surveying the
Extravaganza.

Over yonder
a tower of giraffes
loping the savanna,
beyond that
the North Rim of the Canyon,
just before you get to
soon-to-be
Waikiki,
on the way to Mount Fuji.

Circle back to
Jimi at Monterrey Pop,
hop over to the Globe where
Will is doing a dress rehearsal
of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
Down there Socrates is
handing out programs,
over here Dr. J
is slammin’
from the free-throw line.

Speaking of which
God slams down her
cup so hard it cracks.

Who in Hell
are these fools
going around with
a spray can painting
“Sacred” or “Profane,”
“Holy” or “Worldly”
all over
everything?