Sketchpad Honey and Fire

“If you ain’t never used your knuckles,”
the poet said,
“you ain’t never measured.”

The paper appears to be six by
I don’t know, three knuckles
I’m not paying attention.

He drew a tree,
grew tired of trees,
and it became a spaceship,

dunes under a moon,
a beautiful halting face
reminiscent of honey and fire

scorched Damned,
a multitude of us now,
quietly suffering eternal…

“Once you’ve touched god,”
the poet speaks,
“you just get weaker.”