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[Poem-a-Week] Unholy Sonnet by Beverly Burch
Some days it’s all effluvia and blood soak. Some days tongues speak so dirty they need soaping. Sweet tumescent tissues beg for transgression. Ignorant of prayer, the body croons, it wanders over the ridge, eyes grazing on lupine, poppies. What a vehicle, this delectable flesh, a shape-shifting carriage for distracted souls. What a vessel, canvas wailing for its paint. What a pail of slop, what a culvert. Sea surge tosses salt into lungs, brines the body’s juices. Flesh bends thinking one way, heart another. They arrive at the same place, puffing like an old bellows, recalling spring clouds of jasmine, wisteria. Body never quite makes it to heaven. A handful of ashes, homesick, scattered in the desert. Or silent in the boneyard, unholy tissues offered to grateful larvae. Still, a song. *first published in The Laurel Review
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