What God Looks Like

Fifteen, and smallish for his age, with hands
As fair and delicate as are a girl's,
A look that says he doesn't understand,
Nor wants to, where the world is being hurled.
A golden ascot underneath a mane
Of golden silk (if such can be endured),
A giggle as he makes a gravy stain
On any piece of clothing so adored.
A void between his lips and in his eyes,
That sucks men down in bottommost seduction.
To look at him is called a Paradise,
To lose yourself in him severe reduction.
His name is Idic, and a thousand years
Men come to him, until he disappears.

by Kevin Harrington