The Prayer of a Dying Man

God
This opening
And closing of files
Is poison
To my soul.
I’m weary of keyboards
Staff meetings
Protocols
And tracking systems.

God
I’m done with
Intake and outtakes
Sick of reports
Endless meetings
And the bleating
Of office sheep.

God
Deliver me
From back stabbers
Credit grabbers
Liars
Thieves and cheats
And the shuffling
Of weary feet.

God
I need some air
In my lungs
Some iron
In my spirit
A place free
Of electronic fences
And pass codes.

God
Enough of
Bull shitters
And nit-pickers.
Enough of
Cubicles
And corporate
Popsicles.

God
I’m not so naive
As to think
There are
Any open prairies
Or homes on the range
Remaining
But if there’s anything
Even close
Please
Oh, God
Please
Take me there.