dirty palms.

I had a dream last night that left me faith-struck and rattled to my bones. God swept His heavenly hands down and carved up the surface of the earth from its roots; instead of ruptured asphalt and spider-web cracked sidewalk we had only his ethereal palms; instead of grass and dirt we had only his holy fingers. Women stomped the sidewalks as if they were catwalks, children ran, played, and skinned their knees, men stalked in slacks and italian leather shoes, and people died; the blood of gangland gods and impartial innocents painted the streets like the great flood that cleansed a sinslick world. I felt ill. Motion sickness from the quiver of His palms; He mourned and his tears swept across our new earth to wash it clean, but...

In the end, His hands were just as dirty as mine.