AND another day as the bones feel very pained to carry the burden of sin.
ALL two hundred six of them don’t want it; alas it is just the way
The glob of gelatinous goo in the brain-pan knows it. The cat-sticks have
tried to run from the affliction but to no avail. We’re stuck here
utters the piece of flapping clapper as though ringing a bell.
We’re stuck here.
But time dimishes the skin; watch, see? All saggy and wrinkled.
But still, a small ember of fire remains; the errection of need
or the pounding throbbing kitty’s meow.
Sin daddles at the thought and dew-beaters forget while walking on Mother
Now, hush. This is your Soul talking to you: drop the skin.
No need for that peerie-winkie.
:: 04-14-2018 ::