God is Waiting in the World's Yard - M. T. C. Cronin - Bog

A small black cat wakes in the box in which it was carried to a dump and makes its way home through the drains. The only change in the divine realm is that there is no longer anyone or anything guarding the gates of the dead. - 'Downpayment on a Catastrophe'
The simplest of places that at every moment confronts with fresh ambiguities: 'The world's yard': is it a tree-lined garden where children are playing? or the yard where a yardarm is erected, the executioner's noose always dangling? or the boneyard where heretic and believer lie side by side to whisper their shared confidences? 'Carnivorous laughter filters through the woods.' Isn't it always so?
'It's not uncommon to know one has fallen through a trapdoor. Cronin is one of those rare writers who understands that, beyond the trapdoor, we are stranded with God at the endermost end of the world.' - Elena Navronskaya Blanco
'There are many ways to smuggle explosives into a poem. To construct a space at the back of the world's yard, to sit there calmly among the flowerbeds while God wanders absent-mindedly in and out - could there be a better way to conceal the dynamite of beauty, the gelignite of unexpected openings of truth?' - Ricardo Xavier Bousoño
'Lashings of beauty, lashings of perplexity. My standard cynicism finds no standing place. I surrender to the miracle of Cronin's poetry.' - Lazlo Thalassa