Occam’s Razor Suggests If Something Falls from the Sky It’s More Likely Something’s Excrement Than Divine

I once knew the exact street price
of every pill in the area.
I once established the street price
of every pill in the area.

(I’ll let you in on this, the police didn’t find the worst of it.)

I wish to cup faith in my hands
like a lilac,
carry it into a stream
with catfish & pumpkinseeds
swarming my ankles.

I will lower my hands into water,
unfold them, watch my faith— an origami canoe—
ebb & bob on the surface as the fish dart & nibble,

& then I’d quite like to take an alcoholic piss on all of that pretty little scene
of corporeal synthesizing with ethereal, inspiring evanescence.
O how I create vanishing, O how I engineer ephemera.

As far as distance goes, I’ll go precisely that distance,
for as far as I go I stay severed,
& I’ve fallen out way too far
to come back. I’m very serious when I say
I’ve fucked my brain up beyond recovery.

Perhaps god is inside of me thus I am god.
Thy lord exists within thee
or some shit.
Well, he’s no good then.
Maybe I am time itself; but there’s never enough of that
while I’m rather simply insufficient. However,
I’m dangerously inebriated & will dance
if you laugh at me. I will take my clothes off
& bare myself vulnerable
for you, if you listen to my injuries
& then leave me with even less of myself. As is love,
as is tradition.

A vagabond bird, I believe,
has (from nearer Orion than I)
pissed on me. Evidently
dehydrated. At least, it looked so,
& tasted thus. Well goddamn you.
Goddamn you & the ever expanding radius of you.

I have been created for this disappointing spree I’ve wrought,
soon I’ll be cremated with a crack-lighter. It won’t even be
ironic, just
appropriate.

Were I given three wishes
I’d once wish for the ability
to abuse anything
while maintaining a recreational intention,

& I’d twice wish
for much higher dosages.
It’d be Pyrrhic
if a victory at all.

You know you can really learn a lot from those classic masterpieces
that retain, with conviction, timelessness,
& such interesting correlations with nature you’ll find!
Like how when I fell drunkenly off my roof one morning
robins twisted their heads sideward,
frantic & starving
like Goya’s Saturn Devouring Son,
I thought

wouldn’t it be nice if this killed me?
Or if these robins could realize
I’m also a worm
& it would delight me
or, at least,
finally allow me
a pittance of vindication
to be masticated
& spat into a wanting mouth.