It’s a contradiction to speak of progress, spiritual or otherwise, and then complain about having to do the dishes. The little things one resists, once seen in their true light, are understood as blessings, death included.
Our lives outlive us — by one smile, one poem, one soothed pain,
one axe, one gun, one malicious stroke of the pen,
the present flesh recoils, and mortal breath is thrilled again.
June 10, 2020
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces