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greener pastures

The soil is rucked with my kicking

Nails quick-cloven, roots in my hair
I taste dirt, the worm

Paper-thin light presses
Down and down and out

A muddied, wallowed grave

A hand, a bloody-beaked gryphon,
A very lion on my chest, prowling
After my heart

I will not be sepulchered!

I lie
I flail I cry
I glimpse a powdered-milk sky

“…He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…” – Psalm 23 (NKJV)
Posted 02/29/12
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