Non-Prayers for the Modern Bravers

Forgive the crayfish souls,
grey husks feasting
on the eternal smallness of the frail delicious.
Reintroduce the natives to the empyreal sewage.
Conserve the hirsute being of passed over mink,
coatless, shivering
in the nippy after tundra.

Forgive the Greeks. The Pagans.
Arrange us a meet and greet with Cro-Magnon Man,
Mr Habilis and Co.
Forgive us our peccadilloes and our callow nerves.
Give us gold teeth and little queues,
a sense for the senseless, start to the unending.

Let there be an after-water in this earned after-party
for the after-gills of perished giant squid to breathe.
Save the soft-shelled souls of the Cambrian extinction.

Carry the remainder in soul-recycling calculations.
Let slide like soap the contradictions.

Give the dead-lazy chairs.
Give the ghosts of confident men butterflies in their dead bellies.
Let ghosts of blind, dead women, see in microwaves and gamma rays.

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