Pastors speak of thoughts divine.
I still prefer the human kind.
I move between the earth and sky,
heel and toe,
hip and thigh.
(Omnipotence Paradox) Go ask the Big Guy, the one eternally preoccupied– knees bent, arms flexed beyond the galaxies. Sweating since the Big Bang, which he categorically rejects. Still cursing the stone, (misbegotten egg!) and pondering in His Omniscience, which came first: this Goddamn stone I cannot lift, or the chicken head who brought it to existence?