Sunday Squibs

The narrowness of the path to salvation is relative. It won’t accommodate a Cadillac or even a Civic, but it’s plenty wide for those on foot.

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Some confusing things are not worth the trouble, my TV remote, say. 

But others demand my attention: taxes, yea,

Or death, hey. 

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When my head gets too high in the clouds, the blood-stained earth calls out, “Where is your brother?”

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My challenge day and night arises in this question: what important thing am I right now forgetting?

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My faults are like the sea stirred up in a storm. Then to top it off, I’m called out of my little boat to walk on the waves. 

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All binging leads to purging. 

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The alcohol in dreams, even when available, has no effect. 

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I’m ok with Judas and Hitler getting into Heaven. 

It improves my odds of getting into the place too. 

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When hell is gentrified, the current residents 

will move in with their relatives upstairs.  

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Deli•quency (n.) failure to pay for your sandwiches. 

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