"The Worker" a poem

 

The Worker

 

I put On my God

My flesh verbs

Into the good of doing.

The noun of pause

Dissolves in the gown

Of pure flow.

 

Breath of ocean’s

Coastal waves;

Tornado’s ghost

And hurricane’s eye.

 

Centering vortex

of all into one

Mind of nothing

by which matter is spun.

 

~~

Perfection

Is

Easy

 

www.msu.edu/~junedan

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