Infinity's clockwork when he's just waiting for the numb
to set in and subtract everything but this tent revival, where
In a blur and a basement he's born again
Hero's welcome for the prodigal son, who spent the year
half-heartedly having us strangled by stethoscopes
he knew could never really save him,
Never salvage his psoriatic soul once it had tasted immortality,
Spied its Achilles rounding a corner in the darkened distance,
Where tonight he waits for us on concrete
On his knees scarred inexplicably since he first learned to fall
The way he never did for anything that breathes.
Maybe that's why he tried to needle and knot love
into the wrong parts of his circulatory system
Hoping somehow it would reach the emaciated epicenter
of the most natural disaster that he has ever known.
He begs for one last dip in holy water
knowing this time that he's through
He dives into a shallow end
There just isn't enough room.
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