A Complicated Kind of Optimism
By Justin Karcher
My friends are like, “Justin, you believe in angels birds that aren’t birds this weird glow like a Hulu screensaver?”
I’m like, “Good question I think something rubs the soul’s back when it’s puking so, yeah, I do believe”
But I also believe that Mormon witches hopped up on Valium break into supermarkets at 3 AM they open all the cans of chicken noodle soup pour them into giant crockpot cauldrons
they hold hands & mutter incomprehensible words a polygamy of pills & the broth begins to boil
creatures taking shape in the heat
then they start crawling out of the cauldrons it looks like a nightmare
but there’s nothing to be afraid of
before long, the creatures sprout glowing wings
then they’re flying over powerlines & skyscrapers
angels made of broth
curing the cold in the heart of America
They travel the country performing miracles from Utah to Manhattan
reminding us we’re supposed to burn with passion no matter what happens reminding us to let brightness turn our bodies into revelatory vacuum cleaners cleaning up this mess so we can keep telling our stories
Stories about self-loathing communists
sitting on park benches in the crowdfunded moonlight
losing their overeducated minds thinking about what melts faster
salt or sugar, water or milk, aluminum or steel
they forget that they’re forgetting how to feel
globs of jello with darts sticking out of them, soon they’ll disappear
Stories about nauseous wrestlers struggling with faith
getting drunk on Pepto-Bismol
lying to their wives & leaving them at night
walking nonstop through the stomachs of New York
looking for different aches & sharper pains
like slam dancing with shirtless saints in front of God’s grave
Stories about douchebag lawyers living at the tops of crumbling towers
bragging about making or breaking presidents
screaming into phones at doctors about the disease of democracy
taking what they want from history & getting rid of the rest
sociopathic bacteria working in the shadows
but the sun isn’t a sponge & they just keep chugging along
Living means you’re getting kicked in the head
by a train every day
so, yeah, I do believe in anything
that makes life more tender
like how raindrops are microscopic coffins
inside them are your memories
of everyone you’ve ever loved
when they hit the earth
they crack open
watering the ground on which you walk
flowers that bloom in the dark
because nothing ever dies
That’s good enough for now
the stories we tell ourselves to stay alive
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