scruples.

sometimes,

I see the ribbon of my soul stretched out nice an’ full, weaving in and out of that sticky stuff we call ‘Time,’

runnin’ through the rollers and getting pressed, over and over, by those big fat letters,

characters of a language older than any here and bold enough to make some blush,

all the while stamping upon the void to suddenly steal away its Voidness,

whispering a rhythm nobody in their right mind could reckon,

spellin’ out the mantras of an eternity-old blessing that nobody’s ever caught wind of,

getting stuck here and there about a hole or a lump or a tricky twist of tape,

but all the while singin’ its sweet, sweet song to the multitudes who are suddenly all about,

and here on earth where it’s all happening

I dig my toes in deep

and feel the Wind that moves it all

and I remember

life ain’t about to quit.

 

 

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