Glory to the Highest in me!"
O thee, we keep me from saying these words
lying upward, the ceiling
staring down from its corners
at me, naked and white, ultra neon glowing
unangelic.
Me, not bent or mown down,
but crazy with height, loft,
dizzy till you knock me down
in the dirt. My face wants it,
to smell the smell of rain's father.
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