Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Wednesday, May 11, 2022

Sonnet #353

 The one who dips their bread in the dip

Will betray me, and who would dare

to do a thing like that? To stand before

the Son of God and place the tip

of some half-eaten crust into a bit of oil?

When the consequences come, this man who betrays

Will not believe how much blood is in the soil

How mobs run streets and hunt who prays

How everything that rises must converge

And empires fall, and kingdoms unkown merge

into empires, and a kid sits alone under a bridge

Feeling like they can never go home again

And all form and order breaks at the edges of time

and nothing rhymes, anymore, a man dies on a cross

And nothing rhymes anymore, dip bread into this

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