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Homo Sui Juris




1

God is a lousy metaphor.

My idea of church
is a congregation picnicking naked in the grass,
leaving the stain to the glass, unafraid of ant or sin.

The worms got to God's favorite apple
before people ever did—
it did little for them, I think.

We not only ate from the Tree of Ignorance,
we chopped it down, burned its bitter wood.
But the smoke we inhaled
confounds us still.


2

From animal, man;
from man, God.

The Old Testament is ugly,
the New, unpersuasive:
I decline them both
with all my heart.

Why would I want Jesus?
There's nothing new under the Son.

I don't need God. I don't want God.
But I would offer him tea if he presented himself.
And discuss his curious choices.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.