286–Seeds

it’s morning again i race against the
clock the small time alone here to
feel You in the word in this clinging
i let go fall through the blocked jaws
enter a sort of paradise of sound
where the other “reality” no longer
tempts me to rage against the
machine or the god who made
the machine or the man or the
woman instead i take up my
seeds, cover the ground with
the discards of this world and
plant a garden of love
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