Missed Story

Standard

Force the rhubarb
Dig below
The root of things
To show
Who’s boss and knows
The secrets of the
Universe reverse
To find the where
Of worlds where sorrows
Are all aberrations of a mind
That we must grind to fit
Each designated split of hole
So no things sacred
Let to grow the time it takes
To wake up whole creation
Of relational sensation-ship
And is this treason
For such reason
Have we lost our mystery
And cease to be
The inspirations host
Of most becoming
Holy Ghost of now
And all tomorrows planted
Sorry rows of rueful harvest
Ripening to reap

© K Barr

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