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Rated: E · Poetry · Contest Entry · #2280163
for the writer's cramp
Catch-22

I am applying cypress essential oil to the soles of my feet
and to my third eye.
I want to expand my limbs upward to the sky
and remain rooted to the earth.
My body is a paradox, a conundrum,
a catch-22.
I live in it but like Spinoza
I do not know all it can do.
I am cosmic dust
and will be vast and silent
in death's stillness.
God's eye is on the sparrow
and yet knows my face map.
I whisper and,hope, and shudder
to know my limits
for pleasure and pain.
From the pulpit
preachers roar,
ashes to ashes.
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