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Spiritual Journey



This is nonsense, and the canyons hear it,

Collecting air. Order writhes in a geometry

Beyond the spiritual. Bankers finger their mistakes

Crossing against the light of the soul!

The slide evaporates, the escape route telescopes,

The memory of the night of bonehead schemes

Renders the notion of illumination ridiculous.

Disasters of transcendence, it’s time to clean the latrine,

Forget the drunken lunge at the besotted beauty.

That naked reality perpetrated in the tent

Lends itself to the habit of perpetual curiosity.

And while it’s a long way back, the absurdist sound

Echoes against the walls like nonsense

And fills the utmost self with tortured, nonsensical joy.

In other words, I really don't know.