Won’t cut the cord.
It protrudes from my body, through clothes, ceiling, roof, and whatever trees
and planets it encounters.
And my hands hold onto it, trying to pull it out as though it were a dagger.
And God the father/mother
Stands back and laughs.
He really does need to see a shrink about this over-attachment.
But unlike other psychotics he knows he won’t ever have to come to terms
And so he keeps me on that cord, though it has long ceased to pulsate.
When it’s a human parent, all you need do is go see a shrink yourself.
But when the parent is God, it isn’t up to you or any shrink.
And though I use whatever powers I do have
To stretch, twist, or otherwise weaken that cord,
Though I fuss and fume like a two-year-old trhying to take off its shoes
That cord remains solid
Because God wants it there.
No matter how elastic it gets, he simply draws it in.
It runs strong from here to sky.
And every time something almost goes right
every time something wonderful almost happens
Every time, every time
God gives a little tug.