Low Heaven

in not wanting to have their eyes pennied
and/or a bone shown broken to the open air
they're...
praying for their lucky stars to shoot...
we remain such gluttons
for the generous threat of being
supreme to a man mold maker with a tendency
toward the more dramatic side of everything
we are...

flattered i'm sure,
and what does modern child mistakenly chalk up
to the humongous homogenous win column of god

the swapping of a dearest dead pet for a fresh one...
finding someone else's wallet or say, a snow day

they're...
threatening their lucky stars to shoot