In my boredom, I steal from the gods.

July 26

In my boredom,
I steal from the gods.

I knock down the headstones
of my idols,
rummaging for ticket stubs
and stripclub match books.

I need to know
if they were real like I am,
or more real:
actually present in the flow of life.

Tired phrases tumble from the ashtray,
a mismatch of alibis and metaphor.

I pocket the scuffed ones, the sad ones,
and leave the rest for the cleaners to find.

I slip out the back,
and forget I was ever there.