Well that's not quite true.
I snuck into one last spring
to kiss a girl against the unlit altar,
and I wandered into one last fall
at sunrise, drunk and empty,
listening for meaning in the silence.
I haven't been in a functioning church
in years.
Still I want to anoint myself
with premium grade oil,
walking around looking
like an unemployed mechanic
who wiped the back of his dirty
glove across his forehead.
Tomorrow I will wake up
lurching into the desert
with all my sins draped
across my back.
My feet will burn in the white
sand, my throat will clench
with fury.
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