This is an ode to feverish movement
an expression of exuberant, self-imposed praise
which radiates from that moment of climax
at the junction of doubt and hope
where trust is transparent, but rapture is real
where I dance in the dank bowels of rain tunnels
mud mixing with murk and other things
where I think I may catch pneumonia, but I know I will be fine.
This is an ode to self-assurance
a statement regarding the shedding of scales
and the embrace of effervescence.
Here in this lonely corridor
joy springs like a fantastic fountain
ecstatic, ironic, and more than phenomenal
like showers of faithfulness, mercy, and love.
My cup runneth over
its contents spill into my arms
and I hold a pool of heat
and boiling water
and salty tears
and eternal salvation.
There are no others, only silver-lined shadows
and a clean cashmere breeze that warms from within.
This is an ode to isolation.
This is a song for me, and me alone.


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