Monday, May 12, 2008

grace



encrusted and mired
by the grime
my heart struggles to beat
my lungs grasp and gasp
for clean air
the sticky slime
impedes me and yet
I cling to it
I want it
It fits me like a glove

I feel the first few drops
and then some more
a fierce torrent
falls gently on my head
the sludge works free 
it begins to slip
and slide
down my face 
off my body
I see clear, clean skin
and watch the oily slick
run in rivulets
making trails in the dirt at my feet
puddles form and worms die
stains are gone
and I
am clean


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