Everyday Idols


I leave you this hole in the ground, the Sunday garbage –

Sacrifices laid inside buzzing boxes. Time. Wanton children.

They will blame us for heaven. Not all ideas are equal. As it happens

God is completely able to be mocked. He will eat your children

either way and lick the fat from his chubby fingers. Bury me with

blue jeans in every size, 27 boxes of toys the children never played with,

and maps to exotic locations. You never know. Find 34 lipsticks (even if the

color’s wrong), 18 mismatched lampshades, and broken tiles for make-believe

mosaics. Instead of skulls they will find us chinking with plastic water bottles

and rows of last year’s cell phone, our hills made of hollow webcam eyes.

I hope they will call us savage, teach their babies to walk barefoot in the

grass. I hope they still make mountains out of eyes.

2 thoughts on “Everyday Idols

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  1. Maybe somewhere far gone lost in the decades of time

    They teach the children different things

    Moss grows pointed north

    The wind doesn’t like you most days

    Brush your teeth or everything stays the same

    I don’t mind much at the thought

    Of everything that could’ve been

    If I’m going to be reborn

    Hopefully I’ll be cooler

    But if I’m not prepare me to be buryed

    16 shades of lipstick for all the girls I never kissed

    A couple packs of cigarettes with no lighter

    It’s always hotter in hell

    My favourite hat and combat boots so I don’t feel overdressed

    56 watches that have the wrong time because maybe one of them will be right

    But most of all have someone hold my hand as they lower me down

    I want to have something to let go of



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