there is another world
where my eyes sojourn like
a white yacht
anchoring for a while
while the storm to my
destination rages
this is the place of temporary
hiding
there is another world where my
hands permanently reside
it is a world of ropes and chains
where my fingers
are hindered from moving
from pointing
except to feel what my heart
desires
my eyes are too honest
they do what they want
they feast when they are hungry
my fingers are like nuns
in the monastery
my hands are the nunneries
on two worlds my body lives
balancing
the rope, the chains and the
pulpit
meanwhile, the confessional is
occupied
the sins revealed
to God in metaphors...
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