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I suppose you could call them prayers,
these wishes we put out into the world,
these intentions that flicker to life,
sometimes suddenly, sometimes upon
reflection, the extension of some inner
monologue or passing conversation.
I hope those guys are doing well, or
Please let that car stop in time.
Released from our Sunday school narrative,
we still assume some benevolent presence
on the other end of the line, some divine
and kindly consciousness to whom we plead
our daily cases, somebody with some pull,
some powerful friend on the inside. If not
that, then at least the fantasy that there is
some limit to the terrible odds we face.
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