They Call The Wind Mariah

On a night
in Amarillo
if you are
quiet enough,
you will hear
the wind whistle
through the hole
where god is
supposed to go,
dust settling through
the cracks of a window;
and when you
hear it you
will whisper
to yourself
"is this really
it?"
and sisyphus will
look at you
from the chair
across the room
and say "quit
your moping,
flip the record,
and get us another
beer."