Is God a man with broad hands
to crush the arched bridges of your feet, to the break the soul with the sole, and all the steps and skips that used to be, that never was.
and iron digits to dig his fingertips
into female flesh, squeezing her body to the bone,
till voilent blood voilets and roses plant a barren land of bruises,
till angry red nail marks only make patterns of chicken scratch trails.

Is He a man with such force
to turn your face to the west, to the wall
to call you "Jezebel", "cunt" "whore", "whore", "whore",

"jesus" he sobs "jesus jesus jezebel whore whore whore"

Is God a man with such a mouth-
to breathe out a prayer in rustic cigarrette smoke,
that you inhale like religious ecstasy
and not acrid burning sulfur

Is He with such an aim
to put out cigerrette butts on your nipples.
as he puts his lips over yours, and recieves your exhales of  "oh god, oh god, oh dear lord"

Is God the sort of stranger and man
to leave your face untouched,
to bend down and whisper a hymn on all the human pains,
a parting compliment on women's endurance
and a tattered phone number to Heaven