by Ben Nardolilli
As above, then so below, I build
my defenses in the way that the gods builds theirs
with kilometers and foggy mountains
so that the gods may hide themselves from mortals.
From living below with them,
I cannot blame the divine for taking precautions
though their paranoia may extend to me,
because I also have no wings, halo, or thunderbolts.
So by mirroring their indifference,
they will see how I understand their apathy to us
and why I never made a sacrifice,
because I did not think it would reach their door
and why I was never a supplicant,
because I assumed the request would get lost
perhaps it will grant me a bump
in the waiting line snaking around the afterlife.
For now, I ignore ring and buzz,
leave my messages unread, my smile a rare gift
covering my abode with a cloud
I weave from poems I keep burning in disgust.
Ben Nardolilli is a theoretical MFA candidate at Long Island University. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Door Is a Jar, The Delmarva Review, Red Fez, The Oklahoma Review, Quail Bell Magazine, and Slab. Follow his publishing journey at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com.