God Is Typing on My Back

God Is Typing on My Back

Naked I lay myself face down,
Surely and heavily,
I feel the hurried fingers of God,
Typing a stream of hitting sound
Just like a machine gun.

Oh, I know God is typing
Ten of his commencements
Inked on my back,
A tattooed Bible,
Line by line,
On and on….

Oh, Dear God,
Do slow down.
Slow down your fingers , please,
It certainly feels hurting,
It also feels funny,
Your finger nails are too long.
A little bleeding is ok,
But this is too much,
A lot of digging in,
A lot of scratching
Raw bare back as a white paper,
Not a good idea to compose on,
It conditions my young flesh
To react like the protesting Lutherans.

I’ve loved you, my lord,
Since the day I was born.
A blue eyed angel,
With a sweet soul.
Only, I was flying too low,
Until my dad turned me around
With his bible and belt,
I was a recruit of Satan
At the age of seven..

Now I grow an adult back,
Muscled, well toned,
Tough and strong,
A battle ground,
For a million little devils
To jump around.
Now your typing rocks them hard,
They are stabbing me
Mad as bee,
With their angry stings.

Put a coma, dear lord,
Pause to have a drag,
And some quotation marks,
As well as a question mark;
A full stop will definitely give me a break,
When you change paragraphs,
When you turn over a new page.
Or pause to contrive another commencement.
That would give me a moment of peace,
So I can go and pee.


I wish to take a chance,
For a quick breath,
Sleepiness happens when you over stretch,
when you have typed too long,
My intelligence is gone.
My mind craves for small death,
A pleasing escape of my killing conscience.

Dear God,
When can you finish?
Your typing is too tedious,
You need a new device,
My back is over exposed
To the eyes of the immortal,
Especially the female segregationists.

Dear God, you are quite a typist,
How many words you can type on an average?
Your words come to millions of millions
How are your fingers,
Are they holding out ok?

Dear God, now I feel that you are slowing down,
Is it time for a Pepsi, or some green tea?
They told me that you never eat
Nor you ever sleep,
Don’t you feel overworked over eternity?

Dear God, I thank you ever ever so much,
For the special concern you showed me.
My back is full of sensation.
Of guilt, of pleasure, of fatigue, of duty.

But my mind is half gone,
My soul is afloat on the stars,
My body is riding the waves of milk way,
And could I see you when you finish?