YES, THE MYSTERY
Yes, the mystery
the mystery of life
the horrid mystery of it
Many have seen it clearer than I
have sat in it
been stuck in it
stood in it up to their nostrils
and chose not to breathe
rather than suck in its stench
And not breathing is most difficult
To stop to refuse to not-respond
is most difficult
Why even in the abstract
it's enough to make you vomit
Thank if those roses
were dipped in tar
Thinking it they are
and your eyelids drop off
your neck will never turn again
and you must stare
at the black leather petals forever
Oh Heavenly Father leave us the illusion
of the flies who cluster the lake of urine
gushed by the horse in the fetid prison
of his stall
and the bliss and energy that spins them
as they bathe and dip their sugar there
- May Swenson
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