To pretend to be
an atheist and still believe
in guardian angels is
this house
where I live with blinds
closed tight. To profess to live
in solitude by choice
while scars of loneliness tattoo
my legs, my soul, is
to give loners
a bad name, is to let myself
down root
cellar stairs into a leaky chamber
where only humans go.
Mmmm. A haunting and beautiful meditation.
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Thanks Joan!
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