A faded red restaurant light
And a crying girl
On my shoulder which is now
Sore from feeling. I’m numb
And sick of a comforting arm and
plain sick, just plain sick

(a bunch of crosses on paper, melding together in my
typical tie in arches)

I’m lost amid a sea of crosses
But christ is not on any of them
It’s robbers only and a prostitute
And me who all are destined to
Go to hell
But where is christ now when I’m
On a cross? Is he reading my
Book or praying to me. No. I’d
Bet he’s not.

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