it was a hat box of sorts and they all just paraded around in it like they owned the place
they paraded like easter hats and sunrise services
the paraded like broken flower stems and crowds of rabid dogs
and the box
more ribbon and flimsy shadow-board, cardboard shadows than anything.

but you couldn’t see through it.

her slip however…

her slip however aptly named for the slip it shifts over the rounds of her buttocks
legs ajar
wide open lips
and round roundness

it was perched on the box
little talon feet
little expectations

grasping at stars and glitter ribbon rinds

she looked more like a virgin than she did the day she was impaled by the angel

but under her rounds her rounds
and the way she carried
high like a boy

squawked the one on top

must be a boy

must be the one

typical

of easter to be full of pregnant pause

he died on the cross the same day he was conceived 66 equinoxes before

last orgasm why hast thou forsaken mom

well gods will be gods

an utterance a last breath before being consumed into the tomb of the earth

and sealed there there