Jesus lived 3 years as himself, got dead.
Said Church was within you, but drink this.
Eat that, become cannibals. I’m coming
back, but I’m not telling when: spend some time
in the meantime, live. That’s all. Get
over yourself, or I will. Here it comes. I
don’t want to spend eternity all hung up on things.
Outside the crows and ravens
peck my eyes, the wind blows and I cannot
tell time. In the far
distance I hear something approaching, alive.
Pardon me if I dust my broom and ride.
Never mind. You know I would not, could not, lie.
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