Pots and Pews

an ashy phoenix erupted

from the pair of oxygen tanks,

whatever we inhale, we fed

the beast to wash our angst.

kneeling with cracked skins

and slumber with white in haven,

hushing the inferno from within.

letting out the phoenix that came in,

it flew with blazing wings.

caught by the susurrus of the wind,

it dies, but tomorrow, we’ll sing with the crows,

have one more and in there, he goes.

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