I am a great pillar of white smoke.
I am Lot’s nameless wife encased in salt.
I am the wound on Christ’s back as he moans
with the pounding of a hammer on his wrist.
I am the nail that holds my house together.
It is a strong house, built on a good foundation.
In the winter, it is warm and crawling things
cannot get in. This house will never burn down.
It is the house that I built, with my body
and with my strength. I am the only one who lives
here. I am both father and mother to a race
of dust motes that worship me as a god. I have
monuments built daily in my honor in dark
corners around the house. I destroy all of them
before I go to bed, but in the morning
there are still more. I don’t think I know
where all of them are. I don’t think I can get
to all of them anymore. There are too many.