spiritual

Quakers

I know why you couldn’t shave anymoreI used to think that you couldbut needed to be touchedI think, now, that something told you“What’s the use?”and you agreedand your hands and knees agreedand next morningyour shrunken headcould think only of hard rivers of nerves.

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the soul

For some, it wavers, I fancy, as does a candle’s flame. In others, it is compacted and hard, unreached by the light. Molecules from a veiled realm, finding fate and purpose. Unlucky are those without shields, for their radiance flows freely, a boon for all, but soon tainted.

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That’s the spirit

There’s no one to adore it. Too hard-shelled and prickly, I guess. Transgressions bought and paid for. Still, there are soft surfaces of want. In the shower, (hotter, hotter), there’s that brain stem shiver. White-eyed, photogenic as an actor’s orgasm.

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Winded

Third or fourth wind, I think. Pissed at the life sedimentary. A change is as good as a rest. Round and round the mulberry bush. Hah. And I see that my old cat knows he’s bony now. He challenges the thin air, and slingshots himself into the five yard dash. Then, saunters to his hairy […]

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