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I am eating my way through hell

Sweet avocado, did you know

that soon the world will no longer

have room for you and poof

you will be gone? It feels as if

the sky will go on beyond and beyond

until there is nothing left but holy parents,

a gift we see but don’t until. Sweet avocado,

I am fretting and high and wondering

about sobriety, and the pearly gates on fire,

about how Oprah Winfrey invested in trees

with fruits so she would never go without.

Dear Queer God, if you hear me, send us

a sign, a squishy swish with no pit,

a King oval, a Hail Mary.

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