Prayer

Every night since I’ve gone to sleep to

The Din of everything from Jazz to Talk

Whispering in my Dreams

Ears quivering for further instructions,

Words listening to their rustle on the page,

A brush, dense, yet perfectly flat.

The bloodhound nose of pencil-tip

Sniffing out the right one,

Snaring game rabbit words,

Yet my leg is caught in a snare,

And it’s not hunting season just yet…

 

Not my time to enter, or leave.

A family of lions hunts perfectly.

Nature is order.

Evolution is perfection.

 

The Blue Ball of Coincidence

Harbors life defiantly in the

Winking Face of the Universe

To the Universe, it is

Just Chance, fluke, and fortune.

 

To the Lions, it is dinner.

 

To my slumber its just slippery

Thoughts sliding past my grasp.

Giving me insight for a moment.

I pray my words speak to the

Blank face of the page,

 

Just Chance to be Chosen

To be scrawled upon.

The words hope the page Listens.

 

The Blue Ball of Coincidence

Hopes the Universe Listens.

 

I Listen to Jazz to Talk

As I sleep and try to sleep,

Hoping I remember.

 

 

For the Lions, Nature is

Perfect, offers each born a chance,

Each prey a death, each predator a meal.

 

For me, Government is

Perfect, offers each born a

chance.

Each prey a death, each Predator a

meal.

 

But it isn’t so.

The Lion’s habitat and

My government

Is out of balance.

 

From corruption and

Conservative deconservation.

 

The Winking face of the Universe

Laughs

At the Blue Ball of Coincidence,

At the Lions, at their nature,

At me, at my Thoughts,

 

At every night I hear the din of

Jazz to Talk

I look at the clay red sky,

At the coincidence, at the

Universe, hoping it will

Listen

To my Thoughts.