[Inordinate.]

I rediscovered this when I was reading through one of my journals today:

God as a cliche.

This is what activates my off-switch.

God is in the flush of my cheeks,

the spinach in my teeth.

In the passion behind a cuss,

in the rock against the windshield.

God is in the numbness of my toes.

The funny pages.

In the early morning snowstorm,

in the late night insomnia.

God is in my anxiety over disappointing you.

The drunk driver.

In the failed president's shame,

in the new hope's pressure.

God is in the stain on your tee,

the hiccups of drunkenness.

In the potholes of life,

in the rooftop gardens.

God is in false hopes.

The bad haircut.

In the sale prices,

in the budget cuts.

God is in that mousy mustache.

The fumes of the coal plant.

In the whites of your eyes,

in the yellowing of the pages.

God is in the clumsiness of my hands,

the insensitivity of your comment.

In the voided check,

in the swelling applause.