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a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

Dust and Coffee

Word is we will return to dust some day,
but what about the resurrection of said dust?
Isn’t it clear in the Bible his breath doesn’t return void?
Don’t talk as if I don’t know the promises he left;
I know them, and I will drink them with black coffee.
Dust slurping granules of ‘I wills’;
swallowing them down hard into my bones
to keep me upright in this desperate place.

 

 

The River

Bad Night