The Pit’s Bottom

If you fool yourself, you can walk and smile, rewrite the world all sappy. Postulate a great creator, exemplar, fair, supreme, virtuous and kind. Then paint a grim montage of worldly sin and horrors. Now, set about to reconcile— the beauty of the former To the ugliness beside. Wash God’s hands for Him, white as snow, but know, what’s good for the goose is sauce for the cancer cell, the liver fluke, the shark. But: Evil’s a mystery; enter it, not a puzzle, never solved. We attenuate no problems, believe the endless cosmos, always, without design. So let the rain slide down the window, Paint the sky a sloppy gray, We don’t fool ourselves in here, no one made us either way.