Yellow Brick Pilgrim

I kneel in the cornfield
at the feet of the scarecrow
seeking forgiveness
and directions to Oz.

Let the trees throw apples,
and monkeys descend from the sky.
I shall suffer all calamities
on the route to find God,

and if he turns out
to be some fraud in a suit,
should I complain,
or applaud this fantasy

for weaving strange beauty
into a world more bleak
without the willing
suspension of disbelief.