This is a humorous poem about the difficulty of defining God. It pokes gently at our inadequate beliefs that we know what God is, what we are, and what the purpose of life is.
The mind of God
Must be like a slinky,
Lanky, twisting, kinky
Down the stairs of time its goal,
One, by one, by one, its toll
—
Or the mind of God
Must be like a head of cauliflower,
Amputated and turned sour,
In a Ziploc container the heads cower,
For they could not last another hour
—
Or the mind of God
Must be like pieces of gravel,
Cast off from comets as they unravel,
Pulling at the tail of the universe as they travel,
A cosmic game of Scrabble
—
Or the mind of God
Must be a woman parked in a vintage tin,
Plucking at one wiry whisker on her chin,
Only to find that in the place of that tugged lock—I grin—
Grows another and another beauty sin
—
Or the mind of God
Must be like a summer day and cherry pie,
Or a caterpillar turning into a butterfly,
Or a comic on the stage whose jokes die . . . sigh . . .
As we stub our toe and rub our eyes
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