Night Music
pantomime of mist
fey with thaumaturgy
woven into the clef of the moon,
and a chirrfulness of crickets,
fervent of metronome,
basoon of owls,
soft viola of boughs
on breeze-grazed spruce,
prestidigitators of purl,
till dawn’s still trumpet.
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6/4/25 ... mods
1/28/24 mods
Someone gave a sermon on Sunday, and in that sermon self-disclosued that he was angry at God. Why? For creating humans. But, boldy, he went on, this is something to try to work with or through to seek Good.
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