Devils' laughter scratches my ears.
I ascend slowly up the mount.
At the summit cruel arbors await.
The breeze blows a sweet angelus
as smoke spills from my orifices.
Magdalenes gather up balls of foil.
Forsaken, their care fails to move me.
What God would raise high the beam
only to depose my ascension?
Pile transgressions
on my striped shoulders.
Call it grace and fashion
redemption from squalor.
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