The Man Who Would Steal Happiness

The Killing Machine

The Our Father

our father carried silence like a spiked baseball bat and pierced flesh bone in an instant--his disenchantment victim children lay prone roadkill in fear awaiting our father brought hate memory cold snow wind freezing in august heat when he'd enter the house and we'd run, hide from our father who preached heaven but gave us hell to live in as a sacrament from his god's body--a hitting stick beat from the sarcastic smile of the only almighty jesus we knew--our father

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