i don’t know what i became
but every day it felt the same
and every time my legs went lame
the only voice i heard was blame
shame had got me leaning over
puking out my guts a boulder
at my back to push it up a lonely hill
sisyphus don’t make a fist
just push it to the top and spill
my drink upon the burning bush
then drag my boy aloft to kill
a sacrifice to vengeful gods
or angry priests at heads of mobs
and in the corner jesus sobs,
“lob your stones in my direction”
none believe since his rejection
of the fiction of human condition
wishing in one hand and shitting
in the other jesus, brother
i’ll sit down compose and grieve
wipe your nose upon my sleeve
and you can have another
jesus christ you best believe
that you can have another
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