God the father/mother

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

with reality.

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.