Saturday, May 07, 2016


Stars, no stars, no
story without the need for
atonement, no alleyways without the
drunken fathers of sleeping

No grace.

No forgiveness.

The song of empty fields, and of
jawbones.  Animals brought to ground,
covered in blood, blanketed in snow.

The continents raised up from the
ocean floor, the oceans on fire.  Filled
with garbage, with poison , with the
bodies of the last dozen holy wars.

You win or you lose.

Your God ascends or is devoured.

All stories end with the
smell of burning flesh.

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