my deepest thanks to Christ
I’ve escaped to the
sanctity of the church.
No, the solemnity.
I’ve left the rest
to whatever mindlessness pleases them.
there is really no concern,
only the need for solitude
as all men need sleep.
without it, I am like others
without love—only love
is not as imperative and can
be crafted as desperation dictates.
but the smell of the wood pews
has earthened me, so very much
needed.
the eternal Strife
painted on the vaulted ceiling
[the likes of which are
only found within]
has stroked my nape as well.
very uncontrived and a sad rarity,
but it has added voices to mine
in a grand echo that soothes the Self.
I feel so much within these minutes.
so much peace now, a raging quiet
that I could never hope to explain
to any living soul:
some foreign suggestion.
* * *
this has been a successful break-
out, now back into the
sweet cold of
this Austrian foothill.
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