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Easter Eve

from the steps of my apartment
       I watch bird shit dry on my car

I churn through thoughts of sin as
smoke chains with discomforting                                         
things like pastel anal eggs and being number
thirteen in a consensual
gang rape
Jesus never did this
but He was a better man than
His myth
I wonder if I'll wake up tomorrow
to roll the boulder out of my bed
only to find the whore of Babylon
naked in my head
              limp from fucking

but wanting eggs over easy on top of corned beef hash
a cup of watered down coffee and pulp free
orange juice

The fourteenth cigarette is good
because not being able to breathe gives me something
to think about

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