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Our Better DaysOur universe is the memoryof god in passingShe moved throughfat ass quiveringwith an energy we mighton our better daysrecognize as lovethat, when translatedinto physical propertybecomes aliveThese traces of history we detectin the deep black memory of spacethe subtle microwave vibrationsand quantum signatureswe trace across spreadsheetssmudging cheap ink with chubby thumbsare all proof of her passingher fragrance lingering in the roomlong after she's gone awayThis tenuous web of breath and bonethis slippery synchronization of motion and soundare no more than the waves in her wakethe moraine of an ancient glacierthe path of god-in-passingmoving in the absentminded furyof blind love and accidental creation
ConfessionIt is hard to speak out nowwhen so many believe the storiesand the grand exaggerations of my actionand my grudge against the godsIt is tough to move my tongueagainst the weight of mythstacked toward heaven in my imagebut I mustI am not the hero you believe me to beNor am I justice or redemptionleading you out of darkness into understandingtorch of truth held proud and highI am a thiefdirty hands and tangled hairwho stole through shadows and snatched the flamebecause I was tired of being in the dark