"God Has A Pen That Never Runs Out Of Ink"

quote from one of Frank McCourt's students

and seas that never run dry. Numberless possiblemiracles, or the head count of angels dancingon the head of a pin. Though why would theywant to ruin their silken slippers, pierce the solesof their pearly feet, when the polished dome of heavenis their ballroom? Anyway, back to God, best-sellingauthor. Collector of royalties, seen, and unseen. Does helog onto email, linger in chat rooms, have a Facebook page?Does he go to writing conferences, working on his MFA?Or do we only see him at the Open Mic, disguising his wordsin a half-baked ramble, causing the emcee to boot him offafter fifteen pages. "Geez, you said we could read one poem,"he mutters, shaking his dreads. "Let's blow this joint.I know a bar where they let you play jazz all night long."Outside, the spangles of infinity are shaking their holy booty,and the moon's hot spotlight radiates in the inkjet sky.