Dear God of Glitter

Dear God of Glitter
please rain down upon me
in all of your sparkling majesty and glory,
your brief, momentary flashes
of the visible light spectrum,
your shiny shining,
like sugar for my eyes,
I pray to you to make everything fabulous,
to confuse the light waves into glimmer with your billions of reflective surfaces.

I work diligently to someday become glitter myself
in its purest form.
I am training my skin
to reflect light
in such a way
as to dazzle passing observers.
I am learning to speak Italian
with a French accent.
I drink sparkling water
with lemon wedges.
I use glitter as a garnish
when I sauté my vegetables.

The other day,
I snorted a kilo of pure glitter.
so that when I pass on the mortician will dive his shiny scalpel
into my flesh, part my skin,
and become astonished by my internal organs,
each one ready for a disco.

I carry pocketfulls of you
everywhere I go
sprinkling you in places that need a little more dazzle.
A restroom becomes a dance club
A Mormon church becomes the Cysteine chapel.
The bus stop becomes the Taj Mahal.

I take you to AA meetings
I sprinkle you into old Dan’s face,
who looks up at me while
the sparkles transform his rock-bottoms
to diamond-tops.
And now the story of his father’s fingers
and the burning of his house
is told like a hymn.

I pour you in lines along the scars of Marcus’ wrists
so that his failed attempts
to surgically remove his self from himself
will now resemble the well-tilled fields of a glitter-farm
which, from the looks of it, will have a prosperous harvest this fall,

I take you, God of glitter,
to the funerals of my friends,
throw you during the eulogies
The mourners stop crying out of sadness.
Now, they cry because of how beautiful dead is
when it shimmers.
I’ve been throwing so much, lately,
I’m afraid I’ll run out.

I don’t want to buried,
dear God of glitter,
I want to be pulverized into a billion tiny
shiny pieces.
I want to be put into makeup
to be smeared above and below the eyes
of all the little girls and boys who wish to be glamorous.
I want to be held in handfuls
by drug addled youth at raves and tossed into the air
at the exact moment the beat drops,
sprinkling down upon the sweating
ecstasy-filled masses who are losing their shit.
I want to float down slowly,
so that people will see me as a billion tiny mirrors
in which they can see a billion tiny parts of their own soul.



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