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With The Ascension comes cleansing. A rising.

A simple prayer.

Rushing cascades of foam edge out detritus.

Metal filings, steely and black, scatter.

Scrapings from

Sculpting… Prison bars… Chains… Rust…

Seep into corners and erase defilement.

WASH ME

FOR I SHALL BE WHITER THAN SNOW.

 

                                                        A. Locke 2014

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