Shorn

Our father
eats himself in a cannibalistic seizure
regurgitates himself all over the floor
and calls himself cleanliness.

Our father
runs like water towards the sea
loses inertia in every shallow stream
and calls himself omnipotence.

We might lie down
face down
on the cold concrete
begging for attention
useless puddles polluted with the promise of evaporation
We might sing
an electric song
embrace the golden pain of its' fire
as it cleanses our throat like gravel
We might even deny that his absence is driving us all
completely
undeniably
(regrettably)
insane.

But we will survive
if just long enough to see the look on your face
as you stand gawking
with silver dollar eyes misplaced and odd looking against the backdrop of your perfect complexion
as you wonder what we do-
where is the connection?