I am not acquainted with anyone

there, if they spoke to me

I would not know what to do.

but so far nobody has, I know

I certainly wouldn’t.

I don’t participate, I’m not allowed;

I just listen and every morning

have a moment of such happiness, I breathe

and breathe until the terror returns, about the time

when they are supposed to greet one another

two people actually look into each other’s eyes

And hold hands a moment, but

the church is so big and the few who are there

are seated far apart. So this presents no real problem.

I keep my eyes fixed on the great naked corpse, the vertical


who is said to be love

and who spoke the world

into being, before coming here

to be tortured and executed by it.

I don’t know what I am doing there. I do

notice the more I lose touch

with what I previously saw as my life

the more real my spot in the dark winter pew becomes-

it is infinite. What we experience

as space, the sky

that is, the sun, the stars

is intimate and rather small by comparison.

when I step outside the ugliness is so shattering

it has become dear to me, like a retarded

child, precious to me.

if only I could tell someone.

the humiliation I go through

when I think of my past

can only be described as grace.

we are created by being destroyed…

-mr wright

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