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Mother's Prayer

Oh stop

It's poetry time No, no, hang on, hang on, hang on, hang on, hang on, hang Oh, stop.

Shh, it's poetry time.

No, no. Hang on, hang on, hang on, hang on.

Shh, sh, sh.

Our mother, no.

Who art underfoot, hallowed be thy names.

Thy seasons come, thy will be done within us as around us.

Thank you for our daily bread, our water, our air, and our lives, and so much beauty.

Lead us not into selfish craving and the destructions that are the hungers of the glutted,

but deliver us from wanton consumption of thy vast but finite bounty,

for thine is the only sphere of life we know, and the power and the glory forever and ever.

Amen.

Linoleum knife.

A podcast of the cinema. And that, which. A podcast of the cinema.

And that.

Which is also part of the cinema.

Which was handed to us as we exited the press screening.

But first, my name.

Is him.

...