My brain, Is. (Ajar)
Thoughts- seemingly fuzzy away…
off into the lukewarm, damp air.
I am reminded of bathwater past its prime.
Hello, Little Boy.
Did I lose you between then and now?
I’m a silhouette- hiding-
(roughly).
The, Fat Man, burned
shadows upon architectural columns:
Humanity.
The, Tail Man, with-
Presence of Mind
- photographed the death of an era.
Where do I go?
(Facades are a waste of Psuedo-Truth)
The sad is too big.
(It Is) too big to carry like a package.
We’ve been paying the wages-
of the homeless.
(We) convene in non-denominational basements-
and pick up a map, right next to the cream and sugar.
Non-denominational is denominated.
I am, Judas.
The (Ideal)ist that changes the world…
with the strategic use of 40 silver pieces.
I accept His blood-money.
That is my salvation.
That is my sorrow. (We are) not worthy.
And I cry. As humanity falls-
the Kamikaze is stark against the photograph
-as He pays the wages of our sin.
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