#Poem Getting Closer

Getting Closer 2

Chatter, clatter, banter, bowls,
spoons, plates, forks, knives;
data, tinged with ultra-violet fragrance;
tables, waxed with thick, sticky history;
not scrubbed, not bare pine;
not shocked.

Later, the discarnate whisper an invocation:
Let ritual nurture goodwill;
let underworld blooms swamp all famine.

We stumble, trudge
through a porridge of blundering self-guidance,
rocked by unpredictable providence;
not aware of our selves or each other,
yet, it all fits exactly.


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