Luck doesn't just happen.
It bakes. Time is the oven.
Like that? ^^
You're lucky to know me.
You could have been hit by an SUV
and ended up in the hands of a quack hiding from the Anti-Defamation League.
Geez, would you look at the weird shit in jars on his shelf
(If he existed.
If that driver hadn't swerved.)
Luck is the residue of design
like jam on a knife
at the breakfast table of infinity.
Whoa, nice, right? ^^
You were lucky when you ran out of here
carrying all that shit.
Lucky traffic was light.
Lucky the sun was up.
Lucky you got me to sign my (brilliant, fantastic) book
before you ran out of here like a chicken from the skillet,
jabbering about luck
and some other unkind hoo-ha about the funny papers.
for Sunday Muse #130.