All the angels I know are alcoholics.
They can’t stand the sight of blood, so they drink it away.
All the devils I know donate to charity.
Publicly.
They leave big tips when people are watching.
Most demons can quote The Bible in a pinch,
when it serves them.
All of the gods I know wander through life blinking,
befuddled,
accidentally leaving miracles in their wake.
All of the goddesses I know have a penchant for cheeses and pastries.
They trip often, enchanted as they are by the round edges of clouds.
Most mortals write divine ones off as lunatics,
keep their worlds safe and sane.
I have read holy scriptures in the lined faces of old women
begging for bread.
I have heard the Creator whisper secrets in the quiet places trapped between the notes of rock-n-roll songs.
The only book you ever needed was written on your heart before you born.
The only God that counts dances inside of you, moved by the pounding of your blood.
Burlesque Press 