A Prayer

You are, of course, too much
I am easily tired and slow

Where you run on for days without rest:
The God of ultra-marathons and Bolt
Who still jogs beside me on my 12-minute mile

Where you work without end:
The Messenger for Gods without rest or relent
Who pulls me to my feet on 14 hour shifts

Where you laugh without reserve:
The Prankster who steals their best friend’s cows
Who reminds me that may it harm none we all need to have fun

Where you lead:
The Guide today until death
Who rides beside me on long sleepy nights

Enagonius, Poneomenos, Mechaniotes, Diaktoros

Transcendent and eternal
You called to me and I fall at your feet
I thank you, Lord Hermes, for your blessings and your indulgence as I find my way on your path

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Drunk Advice From A God

the days are pouring nectar down my throat so thick and sweet that it makes my teeth brittle in exhalation to life

and he tastes like spiced wine, in-toxicating and scalding as he elevates me the way a lift carries you as high as you ask it as high as it’s able

He laughs: Burn Your Feet flying through inexorable hours you once spent languishing in despondence

Reach out with both your hands for Death and screech your joy when She recoils, smiling