#MorningHymn, Ryan Scott Morris


Will the egg yolk
be unbroken at the
checkerboard House where

we keep Sabbath new
religions and funny bones
in waffle-iron reliquaries?

Choirs of drunkards
hungover their chairbacks
let loose what they

 

been holding in; soupy half-
digested yolo (you’ll find today’s
selection in your hymnals).

I don't always pray
but when I do, u r
my idol, genuflecting

in the bathroom
beside the eggshell
porcelain painted

yellow by one bulb
since the other
burned out.

Like a bone wrapped
in marrow, u subvert
four nickels (these

 

paradigms), O syrupy
Mother, patron saint of
customer service,

resting on ur laurels
(wherever they are).
Facebook-officially

dead, your eyes droop like
a zoo-born tigress, lulzy
and W.A.S.P.y from cage-livin,’

but when the day comes
that life in monotone
starts killing ur vibe,

look at it this way: at least
something, for once in ur
#life, will be over-easy.