I am the god of paperwork

Creator of the ninety-six forms, each one subtly different, each arranged, breatthing life and order into the universe and stuff.

I'm as old as Methusela was when he was my age

I cannot believe you
you were born veiled
and it has not worn from your eyes
though your tongue has free reign

I cannot feel with you
empathize yes
trust perhaps
but faith has dissolved

I cannot judge along your side
or rather I choose not to
and I will not argue with you
hurtle your words to ephemeral victory

I look at you and see more than I once knew

The child is there
the child is strong
innocence eroded
down to a bedrock of ignorence
cruelty and selfishness

and this I will tolerate

Two sacred statements

Here's a prayer: move with me.

    I want to flow with what is, be its agent; an intent/an eddy in a sea of chaos.


Here's a prayer: give me something to believe in.

    Because I don't know where to find it but  want it to be out there.