God signed up for the open mic at the end of time,
took the slot between a ventriloquist and a mime,
stepped up to the podium with the universe in notes,
and delivered thirty minutes of material that floats.
He opened with creation, which he said was just a bit,
a setup for a punchline that the cosmos couldn’t fit,
he said the dinosaurs were funnier than anyone could know,
and their extinction was the callback to a joke from long ago.
God at the open mic, trying out the new material,
existence as a rough draft, suffering as serial,
the universe applauding with the sound of dying stars,
God at the open mic, still workshopping the scars.
He did a tight five on the concept of free will,
said the paradox of prayer was just a vaudeville skill,
said love is just the punchline to a setup about pain,
and the audience of seraphim applauded through the rain.
He closed with something quiet about the nature of the end,
said death is just the outro, it’s not the message he would send,
the room went dark a moment, then lit up with something clear,
and God walked off to moderate reviews and a small beer.