Seth Lloyd Norris Thomas

is like faking an orgasm—
everyone involved is cheated,
and anyone familiar with the rhythm of the real thing
knows it
...

Sadly,
I am quite proud of the fact that
I have invented a new You again,
but—
...

Were there tears,
pain
in the tearing—
...

I saw a picture once
of a black hole
wicking away the sun-stuff
from a nearby star,
...

All my speaking is empty;
my words are meager offerings,
toiling long and hard to bring forth
one single, solitary piece of spoiled bread;
...

Clapping,
they are always clapping for me,
but wickedly
...

Sometimes I wonder
If I am some sort of cosmic analogy
simply created to show Your bigness.
...

While I empathize with and understand
your proclivity for self-preservation, I hope
you can pardon me tonight’s chemical indiscretions.
...

Thoughts dance
as I ponder-waltz with You,
grasping at
Your liquid presence
...

Where you there, when I painted the night black?
Did you adorn the darkness with countless shards of light?
Or were you there when I formed you, sculpting the curves of your face
and pouring the coals of life into the depths of your eyes?
...

So hard now,
so hard to hear You
amongst the din of those
familiar little black lies,
...