• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 02
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Thoughts of gods who are silent

I saw Zeus in the morning and he was a bit of a mess with his hair cut off the chest with a blanket on his shoulder and a bit of a tear inside his shoulder bag and the gloves in his hand washed the hand inside the plastic jacket in his pocket.

His thunder was nowhere near as much as I thought of it just as the sun was dry on my knees knocked down a bit to pray for the first time in the morning. A couple of weeks ago I saw Hermes saddle on the road with a couple of inches of snow on his side waiting for a bus back to the airport to get a flight back to heaven.

The hurricane Aphrodite was tossing her hair across the gulf and her skirts whipped a huge wave over the Gold Coast some historic epitaph consumed in a single yawn and several million casual jackets and lovers vacationing on Lake Victoria hiking on the Himalayas hunting coconuts and seal skin the shoals bobbed their heads and dancing held hands and together found Atlantis or at least the debris of a civilization.

It would seem that the gods have vacated the whole thing and they will never have to worry about the long and short of our lives anymore we have no one to pray to and the winds have gone wild and rude with no captain to steer it from shore to shore no one to tell the sun to sleep or the moon to rise we are alone with our guns and plastic bags our oil and poison chemicals we can burn our lungs with smoke and crack open the door to the edge of the world

Yesterday I saw all the Orishas on a canoe in the lagoon paddling fast far far away from us their cowrie collared ankles thrown across the gleaming ripples as they washed their footprints from our door mouth. We are now free and like children we have poured powder on our heads vomit on the television and loud music at the rooftop.