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Intelligent Design

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Shiraishi called upon the great sky cock,
wanted an explanation, wondered, why
the echo of form without the wisdom,
why the bent wit without the timing.
Wondered, as I have, how a man, bare
upon the bed may rise as if in praise
but fail to be grateful for the gift at hand.
O dick of questionable devise.
O schlong of longing, as present
but ultimately unknowable as your
maker, I would worship at the fount
if I had more faith, if I knew your
weeping eye was on me alone.

Source: Poetry (May 2014)

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This poem originally appeared in the May 2014 issue of Poetry magazine

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Intelligent Design

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