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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Personal · #743610
A free style poem for Writer's Cramp, inspired by Uncle Walt's work.
As satellite, I spin myself
and I am spun by greater hands
which afterward fold into prayer:
         palms pressing appeals like treasure-petals
         into cherished scrapbooks of gratitude
         as gift for earth, or deity, or goddess,
         or whatever we cannot conceive.

As explorer, I map myself
and I am led by greater worlds
which afterward play into dreamtime:
         multi-dimensional dialogues with divinity
         swept onto canvas mind in fine strokes
         of evening indigo, or apricot, or burgundy,
         or however coloured a spirit we become.

As poetess, I bare myself
and I am clothed by greater garments
which afterward rise on laundry lines:
         Tibetan flags flown only to disintegrate
         invoking mantras elemental as air
         offering juniper, or incense, or herb,
         or whatever appeases my recipients.

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