Greedy for Less

Everybody singing,

standing, sinking, un-

touchable, uncertain,

afraid of air, feeling

something nobody

feels, palms open,

eyes, dyed green

through stained

glass, drawn

more to beauty than to logic,

those two wreaths nooses of laurel

around the gnawed neck of a cross:

inside this skull, disgust.

That's what the soul has.

That's why a baby cries.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Mar/Apr 2003
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