Do you remember the sorrowful way the sky looked on the day you lost yourself. How it glistened with starlight in the evening as the wind whisper awful and sweet nothings to the ears of the earth. When men and women alike laid together naked against the grass and admired the infinite of that infinite. There is a saying that no two fingerprints are alike, but that lie is told often and is lazily spoken, for no two fingerprints land in the same ways, thus no fingerprint is its twin when placed again, and no one thought to mention that only computers can give precision to document this phenomenon in order to right it into precision. Did you forget how the sky looked down at us with sorrow as we tossed stones at whores when the Lord Jesus said stay thy hand, and we would hang Judas when Jesus wept and told him he was destined to betray him, a villain for the ages, following the orders of a hero for all. The glistening blood that seeped out of a wound into the sweet crevices as cracks in the earth, in his skin, in that desert wind. How Sodom and how Gomorrah must have felt watching their sins be cleansed, and as the black boy places his hands in the sights of an officer who seldom wishes him safe passages. Oh how you forget it, the sorrowful looks that hollered abuse at the ground, and how Jesus, our Jesus wept for the poor and tired, and lost souls. How he tossed the tables of merchants inside the church, so that coins rolled upon the stone floors as though bleeding upon the temple steps, and how dare we force with guilt that the poor give mightily so that men on stage can fly first class to Hollywood and make propaganda films. Oh how ass backwards the sky has become. How unfit mothers are to teach their babies right from wrong when they cast a ballot for a serial murderer of American ideology. How simple it must be to accept the lie that they have no religion but the coin, the white, patriarchal coin. Do you remember the sorrowful way the sky looked on the day you lost yourself. I suspect not because you were too busy being unborn and undoing that which was set in motion. Recall how it felt when Jesus wept, when he was nailed to a cross, and punctured in the side. Do you remember that sky? Supposedly it was for us, but we still shed the blood of everything. We love only our children, and only our spouses, and only ourselves, and anything beyond that we claim love for, but we might cast it away into a fire and say, but at least its not my country, and at least its not my brother, and at least I am still God's son. The truth of that sorrowful sky is is that you are not, you are nothing, but a spec in his eye, but the gunk that accumulates on the corner of the eye as your Lord wakes from a night terror, when he returns to see how his experiment is going. He'll turn up the flame of the burner, and liquefy us and start over, because it is impossible to separate the poison from the blood for the blood is now the poison.