by Brian Duran-Fuentes
Roadside crucifixes,
Bleaching incandescent,
Glowing, all September long.
True, the dead rise early,
But they have nowhere else
To roam around these days.
Hell is too gentrified,
Heaven is a share time
Advertised in doujin
Ezekiel never wrote.
Seven steps, eight maybe,
Is all they can afford
To lease around their grave.
Amber marigold vendors,
Hyped-up, cheapened folklore.
Their petals shine no path
To Disneyfied Mictlan,
Sugar skull NFTs,
PTO rendered null
Due to staff shortages.
Purchase a smile instead,
Trade your phone for their jokes.
Mercury is handy
When booze no longer hits.
Roadside crucifixes,
Bleaching incandescent,
Glowing, all September long.