in Eulogy of the Father


Alone in the girth of thought…

treading into the badlands and the good.

I make a pilgrimage pass the stations of the cross.

A pair of still in life…eyes, watching my every move.

After a deep contemplation…sin is what it is…synthetic.

I am not the carpenter of this ill-fated altar!

Cardinal wine and jewels and mythology shun me.

What is constructed has been done so…

In eulogy to the…Father.

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