nothing left but to
break the baby’s
hands
october and then
november
blind paths to
christ and back roads
littered with
corpses and
then this man i know
who divorces
one waitress to
marry another
who ends up in
a two-room apartment
addicted to
self-pity
has three children
who no
longer speak to him
and the
barrel of a gun in
his mouth and
we all hold our
breaths
waiting for a happy
ending
we all laugh at the
prophets
with their tongues
cut out
how could they have
not seen this
coming?
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