Goodness, God,
I don’t know what to do with life, in life.
Each day a question mark.
Even if I had no spark
Of something they call faith,
I would be forced to go to something
In my brain to lean on/ towards/ against;
That all-inclusive hug some label humbug.
I don’t see how others –
You know who (all of you)
Cope.
I, who feel a dope,
Twerp, dork,
In short, inadequate,
Yet
Carry on,
Intu-i-shun
My primal
Tool.
I sit here on a toadstool –
Miniscule,
A molecule of wisdom in my noodle,
Sounding off.
Through awful incongruities
One offshoot offers up itself to you
More often than all others:
Offerer (that’s me)
To offeree.
Goodness, God 12.11.2015
God Book II; A Sense Of The Ridiculous II;
Arlene Corwin
