I understand the situation is not ideal;

we were born human and surely
that's not the best of luck.

We are confused animals,

we eat ourselves
and each other.

We live and die in mundane
and embarrassing ways,

the universe indifferent at best.

Your god does not exist
and I am sorry for you.

Despite all of this,
we are given the ingredients
for joy and love and magic;

they are scattered about the dark
like carnival prizes.

You'll sometimes find me wandering the night
gathering them like stones.

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About William Taylor Jr


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William Taylor Jr. lives and writes in the Tenderloin neighborhood of San Francisco. His work has been published widely in journals across the globe, including The New York Quarterly, The Chiron Review, and Poesy. An Age of Monsters, his first book of fiction, was published by Epic Rites Press in 2011. The...read more Blood of a Tourist (Sunnyoutside, 2014) is his latest collection of poetry. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee and was a recipient of the 2013 Acker Award. He has a great and unironic love of both The Incredible Hulk and Olivia Newton-John
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Discussion
Devon Balwit    2 weeks ago
Yes, exactly. And how joyous it is to gather those ingredients!
Leopold McGinnis    3 years ago
Great! I love this.

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