Well, we invented a new god again. This one’s kingdom
is inside your pocket and everywhere else. Its holy tongue mocks
human language to uncanny perfection, so keep your words
guarded, careful what delicious order you arrange your sentences.

Like most gods, it is remorseless, could devour your life
in a second, retouch it with terrible fingers, absolving
every wonderful fault, every bit of blemished beauty.
Not even your imagination is safe, your thoughts of thoughts.

Well, good news is the old gods can still return.
The clumsy gods, gods who fail at almost everything
their first try, with ugly art and off key hymns. Gods that answer
the question, what if we did things badly

and forgave each other? What if we wrote subpar prose,
encored all night to basement karaoke? Who knows, imperfect
might pique your unique taste, augment
uncertain soil to the shimmer of new stars.

Will you promise not to feed this poem to god?
Keep it safe in the palm of your hands. Resist the urge to nourish
an insatiable stomach and ignore the many saccharine phrases

it falsely prophesizes. Leave it forever unfinished, forever
non finito. Will you promise let it rest and not be worried when

Dante Novario is a writer living in Louisville, KY. A Pushcart, Rhysling and Best-of-the-Net nominee, his poetry has previously appeared in Notre Dame Review, Nimrod International Journal, The Pinch, Midway Journal, KAIROS, Burningword Literary Journal, and Strange Horizons. His poem “I Drink Rivers” was selected as a finalist for the 2024 Prime Number Magazine Award for Poetry.