slow bleeding in a cold room and
he’s the same age as you
he’s a father and a son and
a believer in the age of miracles but
the age of miracles is gone
the west coast is a fading dream
all those saints and angels waiting
for the last house to fall or
the needle to hit bone
all those death row inmates
laughing at
the idea of salvation
tell her you don’t believe in murder but
what about all of those
people you’d love to see dead?
think about the ocean
as it begins to rain
two half-truths are a start but
the map still needs a key
the desert means something
different to each of us
tell him this and he turns away
a clock on every wall and they
all give different times
it’s like some definition of
god that finally makes sense
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