Our god is not hidden, sitting up in lofty reaches
speaking pivotal words that only few
will hear. His preachers speak not empty words,
that fill their pockets from their speeches
of damnation due to pleasure
or of death from satisfaction of our nature.
our god is not controversial,
only his means of speaking are preferential;
yet his followers are all.
and oh the true preacher:
chest gleaming and beading with sweat
as he crosses the stage to orchestrate the perfect set.
and yet another:
product not yet finished, tools in hand
brushing strokes onto her canvas rested on a stand.
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