"Reader, do you think it is a terrible thing to hope
When there really is no reason to hope at all?"
The universe and I have never seen eye to eye, never
Quite been able to coordinate successfully. I
Can't seem to take the universe sufficiently
Seriously, and the universe can't seem to take
Any notice of me. It's not that we've been hung up
On impossibilities. Except for a different universe,
I've never wanted for anything the universe couldn't deliver
Me. It's my insane craving for the ordinary-but-
Unlikely-to-happen-to-me, all my vacationing
At the risk of belief, my insistence on dreaming the fortuitous
Improbability, the extremely statistically insignificant
That's always there, somewhere, but can't ever seem to align
With me. I'm well aware it probably won't and doesn't have to,
But it could. It could and it hasn't and it haunts me. Maddening
Improbability tempts me to defy it in all its indifferent glory.
As for other people's magicking, other people's bargains
And bromides and tight bonds with their ancestors,
Their common sense and deities, if an uncommon
God really wants me so badly, he can't just let me
Hang myself. He has to come and get me.
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