Losing faith, a cracked invisible egg drifting homeless in the universe, G-d slipping away, a raw concept with no reality, only Freudian wishes, and an oxygen-spiritual tank in my dreams, and G-d on trial. Now, it seems I’m homeless too, a wandering creature forgotten by You, no Mother, Father, just G-d on trial. Lost, in a galaxy cul-de-sac, I pray to a make-believe Savior; I pray because there’s nothing left to do but appeal to a Higher Power, or cry incessantly, for no one sees me; or die laughing, inhaling laughing gas in Hell’s vast but desolate prison, where the invisible sit in solitary confinement for eternity, drinking a wasteland of sadness or uproarious madness, and pondering a runaway G-d who betrayed them from the start, a G-d intoxicated with nothing more, perhaps, than a fugitive dream He can never fulfill, a G-d on trial.