You are the god that rules over unicorns, fairies, my literary career, and luck after all. How can I not believe in you?
I have heard so much
about this “dream,”
why do you keep dreaming?
when will you wake up?
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 you make everything fabulous…
To meditate, start by stopping. Open yourself into the expanse of the universe. How it rolls on into nothingness and the nothingness rolls on into further expanses. Understand the vastness. Become the vastness.
We spoke in tongues. No one taught us sacrament so we invented our own. We ask thee in the name of thy son to bless and sanctify this spit. This sweat.
Dear God of Thrift Stores. Holy Handmedown Lord of the Secondhand. I come to you impoverished and ironic to sink my fingers into your junkbins and sift through your innards. I come to you to make wholes out of incompletes, newandimprove a brokedownbeatup, to stitch together echoes. I seek you on red tag days when…