I do like pie

I was wrapped up
In a burnt orange sleeping bag
Sipping on black, luke warm coffee
Listening to music,
while swamped in a pea soup fog.
We were awaiting the blessing of Buddhist monks and, 
Bon Iver at a cemetery.
It was the first day we saw each other-
in months.
His eyes felt like skewers.
I could feel my mind bleed.
The silent hum of monks
seemed to slow my hands from turning white.
I felt like I was covered in vomit.
“Whose ridiculous agenda is this anyway?”
Even the stray cat left
I sat anxiously through the opening band
moving about as though I had to use the restroom.
Christmas lights in a cemetery are just disrespectful.
Pie was being sold by the “no trespassing” sign-
Apple or Peach, $1 each.
“or Cherry” the old lady yelled, too excitedly.
“Peach, please, a la mode”


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