The quality
of thoughtful
conversation
between godsis rarely strained –
except when exigencies
of their games
depend upon
pretending
they are not omniscient. They then become
proficient at the acting out
of roles we’d
not find strange:
misunderstandings
that comprise the sighs
in our attempts to talk.
They’re good at seeming
like they ought to balk
at the
perversities of angry like they ought to balk
envy and obsessed excesses
in the
other: none
of which of
course obtains. There’s the rub: they lack
our mortal brains.
Such games
are
ponderous, soon come undone. Since they’re
not us, it isn't fun.
.
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