In the pantheon of wistful dreamers
there is a stone head
that is allergic to Visine
and doesn't see the spiritual visions
of the inane monks
dancing in their fur slippers.
I put a chisel against my ear
and hammar off pieces.
I can't hear what God says when you talk to Him.
I must be blessed.
He put his fingers in his ears
as well as mine.
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Rio:
A Journal of the Arts