Chair 3

The walls aren’t usually white
    these days
creams + browns like mocha
hang Jesus from the corner
   of our eyes.
Death reminds us of its cruelty
in benign tumors + loving arms
+ gaping palms + meaty pincushions.
if we’re worthy of Purgatory’s
feng shui can we eat
the medicated bounty of
   this place
built in God’s unspoken name.

I’m here again. not even the cots
   want me
violated by my head space
unsettled by the hues
welcoming + regurgitated
coffee grounds on waxy stucco
of my repeating coffin.   
   I see him
beautiful + bleached
content to idle
in the perpetuity of decay +
tiny sobs from broken souls.   



©️Audrey Rosengreen, 2018

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