chapstick and sidewalks

I walk on the borders of pavement
patrolling immigrant thoughts
with my footsteps
if my mind wanders too close
to the edge of reality
I’ll shoot
tar shoulders unravel to paint ribbons
beneath my Converse

I’m seeking God inside
yellow lines
side-street road signs
the speed limit is 25 miles per hour here
I’ll drive my thoughts recklessly
anyhow
then flash my poetic license at
the thought police
when I hear
metaphor sirens behind me

deities seep through damp socks
to my skin
where they sigh sticky currents
to my toes
I wait for heavy clouds to flash
bright enlightenment on my twilight

perhaps God spoke words to shape oceans
on precision’s eardrum shores
He translated waves into sound waves
and sound waves into alphabet surf
an A B sea
language wrote ocean movement
out of God's mouth
precision replied to his deep blue words with brain waves, told God
sometimes words are better off silent

I lick my lips
they’re a little chapped
asphalt tongue brings tender to my surface
like rain brings slick to the cement
I can smell my contemplation
meditations are worms inching out of my lips
before they can be pressed into sidewalk cracks

perhaps God painted thumbs
on our hands
in an answer to perfection
he said
this is escalation
I see your sightballs and raise you
starfish palms with uneven edges
perfection responded to him with collarbones
shot hollow blanks beneath June skin and left them there, told God
empty space is more filling sometimes

I guess I understand
perfection and precision
but I have never seen anything more beautiful
than stars spattered against a velvet sky
zodiac splashed
onto a Jackson Pollock
backdrop

I have never seen anything
more beautiful
than
the scatter of wet on a tin roof
in twilight rain

I have never
seen anything
more beautiful
than
grass dripping through
cracks in the sidewalk

because
perfection
and
precision
have nothing to do
with

beauty.