If I were a dishtowel,
stinging nettle or leaf

of mulberry.  If egg carton—
would you press me to paper?

Please. I want to shimmy out
of these spent limbs. Do you know

how hard it is to settle down
inside this ragtag blood, these optic

nerves? Please. Are you listening?
This is a prayer & yes

I need a quick revision. Lord,
recast me. Make me card

stock & ream. Folding
money for a five

year-old. Calm stack of dinner
napkins. Pinata. To-go

cup. It is function
& possibility I seek. Better

yet, make make me confetti
slit for the bash. God

of tickertape & gift
tags release me. Prepare

me for the blue
tumble. In the name of shred

& dervish, which only you
can conjure. You of kite

& crayon wrapper.  Lord,
I am but fragment, your blithe