Looming like churches
A kind man searches

For all the time he’s spent confined in the shadows—
Crime purchased him the gallows

An jail cell to yell of how purpose grows,
About how only heaven knows

A charcoal carcass of burnt blessings
Drops near the confession door
He might use it to write
But what the fuck for?
He’s an innocent man sentenced to life
He cannot help but yelp, “fuck the savior!”

Numbed, shunned
He fashions his problems
Into one last chore
Freeing his mind
From its bodily bind
He’s freeing the soul from his core