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Soaking
Draw me a warm psalm
so I can slip a worn out soul
into it.
It’s been a long day of
propositional truths.
My backbone aches.
The carpal tunnel flares
in the traffic jam of
neuron highways.
Can I just soak in
the feelings for a while?
Will the Lover of my soul
stir the water a bit?
I thought, therefore I was.
I feel, therefore I am
wrinkling wet.
Gerald the Writer 