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to those who wept
while Jesus slept,

and families desperately trying
to steal whole Sundays

from those who wake gripped inside the jaws
of a Black Dog’s fun days,

and to blurry shadows always jazzed up on life
while keeping sanity to themselves,

and those who sleep half jacked up on lies
to avoid their own full on shit Mondays –

and to those still hot on the tail
of a trail blazing Mars

creeping behind Uranus,
who still haphazardly choose Sunday

as the crucial day to bleed;
to pray for those who never cried when Jesus left

and for those of us who drown in deep dark pools,
timidly sinking while

our silent, but bold words dissipate

taking with them
our last.

And for those who never wept before we had
anything really to cry about –

I raise my glass.