Fck G-d
where u
find her and call it
a day.
The tragedy
that begat
the Sun
made light
of lesser things.
It was an explosion.
First in heart. |
Now at hand. |
This tree’s blood
is painted on.
The guilt
that I feel
is freedom.
Jesus was
the only magic
we believed in.
The cigarette
that tricked us
into breathing.
An excuse to sing.
Anthemic woodwind
hollow as crown
fall through the octaves
glide over ground and come to me.
Crosses as crutches.
Christ on crooked feet.
Carcasses crafted by hand.
Some are the lives we walk on.