With A Little Bit Of Luck

Cross my toes,
as my fingers
are busy worrying.

Wear an old clover
in my ear, buried deep
to keep the voices out.

Stick a whole rabbit
in my pocket, let it squirm
until it’s smothered and I can replace it.

Count the angels who won’t look at me
and the devils who laugh at them,
forget the count and start again.

Stab a dagger into my thigh
and tell no one of the hurt.  If I can
take that, what matters of the anxious flutter

of my stomach as I wait, wait, and wait
some more?  A little dizziness from loss of blood,
a little magic, a little forethought about the cliffs

that allow a man to leap into the void
and do not care if he flies or dies; I’m there
and luck’s the only brake I’ve got on my heels.