An Evening Prayer

Lolz for the impoverished of good fortune
young men drunk, passed out on carpets,
shirtless, penises, spliffs and slogans
mapped out across their torsos.

Lolz for the streams full of kittens
that meander, twist, and transmit invisible
through offices, streets, and sleepless nights
like threads loosed from a yarn of wool.

Lolz for the young women undressing
on our monitors, in our bedrooms:
their hearts are brittle like the ribcage
of a songbird, flattened by cinderblocks.

Lolz for the entirety of human knowledge
in cases of plastic and glass carried
in our pockets, vibrating like stones numbed
by the misremembered currents of a dead river.

Lolz for Server Error 404: we tried to download
the web of being in a single effort, satellites
fell from the sky, as if to signal your intent
to destroy us in one clean attempt, forgive us:

control alternate delete

control alternate delete

Cal Doyle

Cal Doyle’s poetry has appeared in a number of journals and anthologies, most recently in Southword and The Burning Bush 2. He has read as part of Poetry Ireland’s Introductions Series and is the poetry editor for wordlegs and The Weary Blues. He lives in Cork.

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