Insomniacafe If God with his hundred sacred names must caper about like a young child full of infinity hiding among a blade of field grass, grey cathedral cornerstones or the wizened hands of a stranger in Calcutta overcome with kindness in a cosmic game of peek-a-boo, how can he hold a grudge against those honest enough to say "I don't know if I've really seen him lately?" Lording over a cup of cappuccino like an Italian monk on watch at midnight, I wonder briefly if the faithful will have to sit in a corner of paradise for a while for perjury. With another sip, eyes wide as Daruma or some crazed cartoon cat, I wonder if I'll ever get to sleep this way...
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