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RESERVE
I
have no trouble with parallel universes.
There’s
smoke rising from my pipe and the smell dogs have
as
they mosey through hangars for poverty and stuff.
There’s
your dream last night, and those strata of Cézanne’s.
There’s
money and daisy bombs trailed on Afghans.
All
we are supposed to love: appearances!
And
there’s what keep up appearance, mysterious rods
that
support the burst of stars and time and space,
the
wicked lattice the All has there in place,
a
scaffold which attic and lab try to understand
but
never will, the deep-down to no end
which
some call the Way, the Devil’s Way, or God’s.
They
are physical and joined, our Real and the Inner-Real.
There
may be a flaw between, yet I must agree
they
make a flamboyant couple; I almost see
a
miracle there, though difficult to praise.
Am
I glad I came? Well, I have
had good days,
but
I’m waiting to see how I shall finally feel.
Alan
Marshfield
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