For today, in honor of looking through my LiveJournal archives, I offer some early-2000’s poetry.
Unedited Prayer of Sorts
My lady of the verdant green, why have you forsaken me?
When I was a child, your oaken skirts shielded me
From interlopers and observers; simple faith carried me,
and simple ritual. nothing else was needed:
any people have speculated that if we knew exactly why a bowl of petunias had thought that we would know a lot more about the nature of the Universe than we do now.
Oh, no, not again.
The bowl of petunias plummeted towards the ground, no room in what it could pretend, loosely, was a brain for anything except a vague and dissatisfied sense of what, if you were going to translate it into Galactic Book Standard, would sound mostly like not again.
History and memory did not go past the wall.
It was as tall as anyone could imagine, an unknown width, and it surrounded the Community, giving them room enough to live and grow but no more.
It could not be climbed, being smooth to the touch and unpleasant to be in contact with for any length of time. It could not be drilled through, nor broken. It could not be dug underneath.