How accepting
that darling little dog
standing before its "master,"
licking the hand,
wagging its tail,
hoping some small treat
might be tossed its way.
And so you stand
before your Lord,
one petitioner
on bended knee;
luck's unloved cur
praying for some small want
to be granted.
But given the world
as it is,
you might just as well
curse unjust fate,
smash your Deity's graven image,
rail heresies,
and become an apostate
who'll bite the hand
that never feeds you.
i get a little lighter
what i relinquish
the world carries.
our 900sq. ft.
breathes out
as Mother's knees
settle bone against cartilage.
this is how fossils
are made.
everlasting pressure,
mountains flush
with detritus. &
the birds? hell.
we haven't even begun
to speak of them.
