Both open, two men in dark suits
Stood in the Holy Sepulcher.
Existence coincides out of his jacket pocket
And settled them burnt offerings,
Circumcision, prayer five times a day,
Back copies of Playboy, the top of my head,
Existence of things that don’t exist, can’t exist,
And states that you have to come with us.
But doesn’t it make sense that
God has been hounding me?
The pollution of the earth and the
Resulting catastrophes reveal
A slender cigarette held to her lips.
She let the smoke linger
Between the religious information.
She balanced feeble human mind
Neatly on the bridge of his nose.
Her long nails, bright red with being,
As if pulled by some unseen mark of man,
Did little to beautify a world,
The luscious red of her lips.
therichardbraxton 