Holy Punchers
I think hell to be like a midnight grocery store
shelves filled with burning crucifix and pestilence.
Bloody-black water up to the necks of Half-souls.
Groping mindlessly in the dark...
searching for God in brackish hopelessness.
Flint and wooden carts colliding-
black water biters abound.
The checkout line is a turnstile
manned by faceless- dripping things
wielding holy punchers
eternally pocking your debit card soul.
while howling Next!
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | Year Posted 2024
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