Why are some….
so imprinted
with insufficiency; souls
lost fowl, cross-hatched between
chicken scratch and duck
waddle, the self-appointed undeserving, serving
an exacting God whom we carry in our foreheads
as an ache.
How escape?
In the ta-Dada of rhapsody,
chance of dance,
deep swallow;
through the reverse blink
of fireflies, pilots in night’s
blue sea.
*****************************
This is another version of my Post-Eden II poem posted yesterday, written for Kerry O’Connor’s prompt on With Real Toads re Rhapsody, and for the G-Man – Friday Flash 55 – do not tell him I cheated by calling the first three words my title.
(For those interested in process, the initial version of the poem called “insufficiency” “original sin” but I realize many people are not so involved with the concept of original sin these days – probably a good thing . Besides, it is two words.)
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