God is a yellow lion and he speaks in fortune cookies.
i see him in those electric billboards- the ones with burnt out bulbs on 17% of its mass. i guess he's on the regular ones too but it doesn't seem so wizard of Oz-ish that way.
and every so often i hear him in a pirate punks or a lucero song.
But more often than not it's walking up those grassy hills when he pounces out of nowhere with blood on his claws and teeth. bright shining yellow like playdough and chick fuz. radiant and stiff. and his amazon paws that knock my breath out as he jumps on my chest, the tips of his nails leaving marks on my skin. and i'm left, facing skyward with whitenoise and static. slipping in and out and still, all this time, not breathing. with a blow to my face that cracks and pops in my ear i gasp and lay limp and soiled in the grass. not afraid anymore but worn and used and broken and damaged and torn and ripped. and ripe for love. and ripe for hope.