A soul wanders until it reaches itself. Redundance is warfare.
Oh’ Tolerant Faith—to see what one cannot see; fabulous, foreign dreams, lavish calligraphy, ink & missive.
In coming to Temple, in watering spirit, strewing angst, if to arrive
at synagogue: tunics dripping existence, bodies slain, hearts rend asunder, fraught with healing, purified, inverted, facing mirrors. To travel over yonder, satori rites, enlightening moon—favored upon a curse, slaughtered first life, crucified third existence, massacred upon 50-years. No sense to it, no rhythm, no rhyme; into cadence, automatic insistence, craving an ancient chi.
