Stars Stenciled into the Sky

I am a fantasy novel,
pages open and burned
on the edges, magic wand
spells out in courier new,
but it is no messenger for me.

I have been
calling and calling
messaging and messaging God,
and he has not responded.

It is possible he has been texting
me through a horoscope app.

Ridiculous.
Like fonts.
Like individualism,
expressed and trite
words on a canvas
stenciled like humans
sprayed in different colors
to the white, yet they’re
all words anyway.

They’re all structured symbols,
each click of the typewriter
a stretched lifetime,
a single period and then silence
like judgment day.