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but there is a part of my blood that is still grape juice standing in for wine      standing in for god’s blood            that I have lived longer      than expected, still stoppered      still fermenting, forever            that my childhood was all bread and all wine      from communion to olive garden            that carbs are carbs      that the body of Christ and breadsticks      both came wrapped in cloth and      anointed in oil            that even on secular evenings      the walls at Red Robin read      you are what you eat            there are too many reminders i am owned            that i come from a soured dough      and take from it     over and over      and everything i make is sour      and everything i feed it      becomes it      like bodied holy water      like Christ in this body keeps growing            i am most hopeful      when at the end he promises      to pull every stone from the temple                         and i know i am a temple      of so many stones      i am sick     of carrying