When you wake up
There will be two umbrellas to pick from
One will protect you from biblical floods
And the other will protect you from stepping in dog turd

When you wake up
You will decide which razor to use
One that leaves you naked and objectified by your mirror
Or one that leaves you counting benjamins in the johns of shopping malls

When you wake up
Jesus will hand you a wine list
And you’ll be surprised to find that homicide and investment portfolios are not on it
He might suggest you choose a good Buddha or something from 2001

When you wake up
The doors of your cocoon will have copulated and propagated
The staircases of your determination will be missing teeth and eyelids
The bedrooms of your childhood will have passageways to the pillar of fire at night

When you wake up
Your Nazirite hair will have grown back
And you will brace yourself against the bones of a Philistine fold
Crumbling in the catharsis of daylight


Andrew Borne is 2 Cups Poet 1 teaspoon Musician 1/4 teaspoon Salt 1/2 cup Absurdity 3/4 cup Chef 1 egg, beaten 2 1/3 cups Family Man. Mixed together and served raw. His column 7x appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.