BETTER MEN AT GOLGOTHA by Harris Coverley 

They gaze into your mind
And can no longer even begin
To suggest what went on in there

A burnt stew of neuronal impulses
The torn notebook of a former life
A bookshelf of ashes and dried leaves

Take a walk by the Acheron’s banks
Pay the ferryman with the coin
You found lodged in your throat

Get a small cabin on the port side
Order the set menu of the damned
Don’t expect a limo waiting dockside

They hung better men at Golgotha
Remember to keep to your right
Don’t make eye contact with the others

It is always dusk here so don’t wait up
There is no light burning bright enough
To alleviate the darkness within

Walk to the deepest valley in the circle
And dig yourself a hole in the dirt
And pull the dirt back over yourself

Close your eyes softly and sleep
Sleep even if you are not tired
For the world is tired of you



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