It was god and I got lucky in purgatory. Clean anemic unshaven blinding furious fucking god. Forever in purgatory where bees don't grace the dormant flowers. Do you smoke in purgatory, I ask as a cigarette and god's tongue are in my mouth – moving like a snake in the lawns of New Eden, scaring the white picket fences, parting them for god's entry and search and examination and luck and will. It was largely mundane but god smiled and smiled and discussed purity and how god is dead and our laughs echoed in the abyss, it was meaningless and we used cherry condoms. We laughed and were sad. It wasn't like I imagined, in retrospect, fucking god, no divinations or miracles – bowing Mary, wine or wafers or crosses, we weren't making love, god was making god and I was making I. Passing time in a waiting room – with archaic thoughts of Anubis and hearts and scales. God awoke me like Lazarus, half way up Jacob's Ladder. "And he said to him, "Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man." And god descended upon I and I upon god we made one another. We were widely inexperienced, and The LORD God said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him." And she was for the time. Forgive me lord, but is this not incest. Leviticus always gets in the way – nagging, stopping, misconstruing. But we drank like Lot and lie between Sodom and Gomorrah. Lie with one another between Sodom and Gomorrah. A good person who gives in to someone who is evil reminds you of a polluted spring or a poisoned well. How are my wells, dear lord, are they like those of Rome, with lead and insanity and horse talk? Will I fiddle through the streets ablaze after you make you and I make me? Run from anything that stimulates youthful lust. I ran to the lord, again and again and again we ran. And in the end this is where I found myself. The wind penetrated the gentle heat; and I sat in my imagined vortex that god had cradled for me. The unidentifiable bugs landed on my leg hairs and tossed their shiny backs with buzzing wings to the sun, which can only symbolize lord knows what on this concrete day. This driveway day – these ashes in the driveway – these epiphanies in the driveway – these seas in the driveways of god and ashes and sex; the lord and I got lucky, but who is the lucky one now? Follow my rules, and live by my standards. I am the LORD your God and we fucked for only a day, dear lord, your tongue the snake in my grass, my dissent in the flowers of your war-like springs and hateful summers. A good person who gives in to someone who is evil reminds you of a polluted spring or a poisoned well. My wells are dry for your hateful summers, lord; abysmal wells like the walls of purgatory and disgraceful wells like the walls of Sodom and the tiles of Gomorrah.