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Hey, Mr. Hitchens


Hey, Mr. Hitchens,

I’ve read you in the bathrooms and the kitchens,

in cars,

park benches, and bars.


You took on all the lies

of angels in the skies.    

The truth is to be found

with humans who lie in the ground.


Crescents, crosses, stars,

and mutilation scars

will crawl without a flock

right back and under a rock.


Your torch weighs forty pounds,

but every flame resounds

with evidence at night,

of reason and logic and light.


Enemies will doubt. 

I will call them out.

To those who would indict me: 

Hey, Mother Theresa can bite me.   


Comrades I know

the fight will never end

because the faint of mind

refuse to face

the ever-loving fact

that they’re drinking poisoned wine. 


Cancer got your throat,

but everything you wrote,

and everything you said

is hiding somewhere in my head.


If I could tempt you back

with Johnny Walker Black,

I’d buy a case today. 

You could drink half of it on your way. 

© Audsongs 2014

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