Tuesday, October 18, 2005

forgive us our trespasses.

i apologize

for failing to recognize
the honor and beauty of your profession,
for sticking up my middle finger when you made me late,
for cursing your existence and purpose
in this world,
for shuddering when you came home with dirt in your finger nails,
for resenting you while the others were clean-shaven and suited,
for refusing to listen:
what for.
you're merely a hole-maker.

you must have wanted to bury yourself alive
for now as i watch them lower you down into the ground
i realize that i've already dug that hole for you
a long time ago.

hand over the shovel and give me my turn,

let me now scratch the surface;

absolve me of my pride.

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