Prayer

My skin is white

My blood is red

Here I stand beneath the dead blue sky

Alive

Lives shift and fall like raindrops

But I can’t tear my eyes from the gutter’s oil schlerings

Tell me

Is it true that we have only once to make it right?

To write the fight and maybe win?

What is this goal you dream and why can’t I see?

Enough of questions.

Now I lay me down –

To wake? Or are we already dreaming?

I pray the Lord my soul to keep –

For what eternal purpose?

Just let me live before I die. 

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Perfection

I’m going to host the perfect party and only invite perfect people.

Everyone there will be dressed perfectly.

You’ll arrive at the perfect moment, say the perfect one-liner to the host, and walk right in.

The orderves will be perfectly fresh and delicious.

You’ll lock eyes with a young woman across the room. You’ll flash her your perfect smile, walk over, and say hi.

She’s perfect.

You ask her number. She says yes, of course.

Next Tuesday, you’ll go on the perfect date.

In June, you’ll have the perfect wedding, move into a perfect house and raise a perfect family.

Thank you, GI System

I’m not religious, so I’m definitely not one for a mealtime prayer, but I in light of recent events, I have decided to say thank you to my steadfast digestive system, the organ that has taken whatever I’ve decided to stuff down it without complaint or really even a gurgle. Fried food, pints upon pints of beer, shots of whisky, spicy concoctions made in a dingy food cart at 2am. I salute you, GI tract, for bearing with me this long. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop eating those things, but in saying thank you, I might at least think twice.