I walked and walked. The sun kept following.
When night came, we bedded down in her blue nest.
The smell of chipotle was everything but here
we are now alone and afraid of the stars, again.
God is in love with his only son, who he begot.
Sin and error is pining until he appears.
We ran and ran from the moon whose eye
would not let us be. We fell on our knees.
We heard the voices of angels on those nights
divine when some begotten son was born under
a star that led three schizophrenic men forward.
A morning is filled with the smell of sleep.
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