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throwing a stone at the moons of theology

The true god looks (without eyes),
smiles (without lips),
thinks (without a skull)
of each false god fluttering
like a shadow on a wall
in the flame-lit cackling cave
far from a burning stone
in a spreading black space
somewhere inside
(if he had an inside) him.
Or she, or it, or they.

The noun for god is wrong
and the best we can do.
The pronoun? Ha.

The cold, reflective rocks,
scarred by collision, wander
in shapes around an idea,
an equation, the truth
in the pure way that truth has
when nothing's there to witness.

  JBMulligan