Wednesday, December 21, 2016

The Gong

Had I been told at two years old that I alone made ordure,
So that for solace summoned I the tiller of soil, Georgia,
Whose sanitary raking rid me not of shame in going,
In credence, when I shared this urge with others before knowing,
Then I would have reason, something that accounts for empathy,
Tenderness at the notion of inevitability.