Sunday Morning

in poetry •  7 years ago  (edited)

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In a broken down gilded cage in the north Florida wilderness,
surrounded by Miles Davis and barb wire.

Prayers said, garden fed. Forgiving trespasses as I hope I'm forgiven.

Living symbolically, not literally or historically; trapped in allegory.
My ego keeping me from experiencing a life more fully.

It's Sunday morning again, surely.

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