Tuesday, the Third Week of Lent
It is always the innocent who suffer.
We are the superstars
the conjunction of whose lives
signal the purge.
Under the sign of the cross
lie the drained bodies
and breathless souls.
We have conquered
we have overcome.
In the heaven of our weekend dreams
we bury the ashes of time
in the barricaded tomb
at the center of our garden of delights
hoping
they will both lie there smoldering
and soon rise flaming.
Star-child.
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