I’m proportionally accurate. I don’t care if God has a plan. It’s for aesthetic effect. Since the sky had its roof blown off, nobody knows what to make of my dreams. In absentia, I’m rehearsing my stage presence. I’ve only got two degrees of separation. Yesterday, I tried speaking in longer sentences, but I was cut short. Fortunately, I wasn’t born yesterday. They say everything is relative. Last week, I heard God say, Why does anyone deserve a life that’s better than anyone else’s? Of course, it’s not unusual for the violent crime rate to spike over the weekend. If you’re only a soldier, you must appear to be an army. Like a mosquito drowning in tomato juice, I feel cheated. When He spoke to me again, He said, If you want to hit something, play the drums.
“Apostate” appears in New York Quarterly (67.3) 2021
