The will of God on bright blue
as I wait to become.
Here He is. On me, in me,
flushing yellow on my skin.
On all of us – waiting, shapeless.
Waiting for light to embrace
all we dare know of ourselves.
Men shouting, howling
like wild wolves, begging
for mercy, for a sign
among nothingness. But is pity
all I have to offer my fellow men?
I refuse to know what I am. Metallic to
biological, the blood pumping our heart
is petrol, dark fuel in extinction,
thick under the fingers of God.
He is behind me, hiding in fiction.
Between the green of nature stands
the reflection of blue and silver,
so high it almost touches Him.
But He is gone. Dead, unmoving.
All that is left are highways
and boulevards. Silence
as we deconstruct every and all things.
Ourselves, too.
And as I stand under nothingness
I, for once, am.
Louis Piette is a queer writer and poet from Québec City, currently studying English literature and philosophy at McGill University. You can find more of his writing in The Foundationalist.