My God is in the stars; she is in the empty spaces between them. My God is in the street signs and ghettos. She sleeps in crystals and in guns. She lies in fields of poppies, and she rushes through the veins of an addict. She is in the curls of the devil's evil grin. She is in his desire for power, and she is in his starvation for injustice. My God is each of my five senses, and she is those which I cannot sense. My God is taste. She is in the essence of syrup and peaches, the bitterness...
