Buddha belly, rabbit’s foot, how much luck can you get from touching the dead?
(Maybe that’s the reason behind Jeffrey Dahmer’s slaughtering of seventeen men; maybe that’s the reason why we break wishbones— to remind ourselves that this bone is dead these hands are alive do something with them.)
In some cultures, it is socially acceptable to eat your child’s placenta— there is good fortune in it, power in it.
(I wonder if this is the reason why cannibals eat their victims.)
Number seven. Cross on the wall. I wish you good luck.
idk. this is one of the shortest poems I've ever written.