spiritual language poetry & writings

a mamaist ghostwriting



caught in the throes of history,
respecter of persons, identity,
becalm me, take me back
to my self, ground me
in this chasm of appearances
–lost as I am among shadows–
and make me real again

for I would make the case for
proportional representation, reflecting
all of us, in reflecting, yes,
of me…

…the right password gets you in,
where everyone is lost in their discovered identities,
though I can almost hear them saying, ‘But what
you end up with is a bunch of rose petals!
Where’s the rose?’