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Jailhouse Saints

Sitting with my skull
Propped against
An old window A/C unit,
I had an epiphany,
And here it is:
My forehead
Could someday be used
As a museum installation
Depicting the birth
And the inevitable fate
Of the cosmos.
Did you get that?
Let me give it to you again:
The sweat on my brow
Is the entire universe.
Just picture it.
It boils up;
Seemingly from nothing,
It appears.
Then, for what may arguably be
No reason at all,
It swirls and shimmers,
Dances and dives,
Until eventually,
Some great calamity comes
And wipes it all away.
Let me put it like this:
If cells are alive,
If they are actual living things,
Then I commit genocide
Every morning before breakfast.
We are God and Devil,
Every one of us
With a forehead
And a hand at the ready.
That being said,
It stands to reason
That the most merciful among us
Are the ones in handcuffs.

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