gods are afraid of heights

the gods may be immortal

but they need brief you

to feel as though you must be needed in the world

for there is so much pain and suffering

despite the gods

who in their silence show

sacrifice sulks greatness

and that they big as the universe

are cut down to cheese-cube you

whose height shortens

when you lay among them

and the clouds that fall too

*

it is the puppeteer who knows best

that there are no puppeteers

only puppets who wait

for the applause for money for fame for friends for love for loss for four more shows, only four more for a fifth for the childhood that looks back on the sadness and broken columns and starts to think being grown up isn’t worth all the rules they were told for the rules untold like keep the stick straight don’t cross strings and if you do don’t cross yourself for something else you can’t remember for remembering can’t for fun for exhaustion for doing it for your mother for not knowing best anymore for finding out

all of this was just to learn that all of this wasn’t just for the show closes or you do and still there is a clap of thunder

but no lightning

it is afraid of the dark