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Michael McGuire
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God of the Gaps
Suffering the witless weather of uncertain seasons,
We placate our senses with rhymes and reasons, Unending universe tell nerve ending's notion, That the surface of the deep is like the bottom of the ocean.
Everything is either impossible or inevitable,
And the over-examined life is not worth living, Food for thought intoxicating or inedible,
And these fill in the blanks excuses are not worth giving.
Taking the heat from the mindless mechanism,
Is what drives the steam of this organic schism, The subject of the object of your affection,
Is a way to preclude any flight-plans to perfection.
Everything is either impossible or inevitable,
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And the over-examined life is not worth living, Food for thought intoxicating or inedible,
And these fill in the blanks excuses are not worth giving.
So the whole is undone by these faulty parts,
And we can't see the photons for the light,
All the blood-money pumped thru these hearts, And all the wrongs done to the left for the sake of the right,
The bomb in the eyes of the innocent dead,
Is a mystery unsolved at its own expense,
The world used to be seat and center of the godhead,
The vanity of senses can turn any babble to sense.
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