Pretty girls seem to live by separate rules, but I don’t know why. The world is filled with people and rules, crazy circumstances and the uniformity of exception. The where and what for, of arbitrary allowance to be regulated based on symmetry or fashion strikes me as odd, beyond survival and this may explain so very much. Gravity pulls down equally; discriminates for nothing. Orbital rotation continues in spite of the fairness of an eye. The universe supports us without end but prejudice is our failing and I blame it on the pretty girls
Sift the silt for treasure
Even if the whole world was created in a cipher
And whirls off into nothingness
This is still not a commentary on the existence of God.
We have today—for this moment of sobriety
There is a Power Greater than
My despair, my apprehension and it builds with me a home
From the bricks of my optimism.
Partnership is no prevention of inhospitable endings
But is a temporary relief from desperate loneliness.
The tired struggle of guaranteeing niceness spills my energy
Scraping from each 24 the marrow so necessary.
My open palm saves me from grasping,
My open mind from grappling
I rid myself of tiny gods in tiny heavens
Where I do not reside.
Let the blades of grass probe between my toes
There is beauty for me to see,
Love to hold, hope to float.
Where this train originated and whatever its destination
It’s in my station now and I am grateful to be on board.
You are reading selections from More Sober on the Way to Sane and Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault