undone

The god grinned, handed me a grenade, and pulled the pin.

I stared at him, had one last look around, and lobbed it into the center of my living room.

Now, it seems, I have no spoons. Nor do I have forks or fucks. I don’t even have any knives.

I just sit here cross-legged amidst the rubble of my numb comforts pinching bits of borrowed rice from the skull of my palm with dirty fingers, and feeling
the dusty Earth press himself
against my hips.