Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Paper Cup

Take the cup.
Pull it down between your fingers.
Fill it up.
Draw until it’s spilling over.
Lift it to your parted lips.

Knock it back.
Tip until the rim is swollen.
Crush it flat.
Let it pass into the woven basket.
Know the hour of sleep has come.

And not thy will but mine be done.
Stop the tap.
Stare into the spotted mirror.
Turn the knob.
Peer into the darkened hallway.
See the whorls of knotted oak.

Hit the switch.
Hear the sound of dust and murmur.
Take a step.
Feel the grain of flesh and weakness.
Know the hour has finally come.
And not my will but thine be done.

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2/07/2006 07:49:00 AM  

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