The resurrection takes
at least about a week
to sink in it’s not like
those flashbulbs that irradiate
celebrities as they arrive
for the gala state dinner
you start to see it’s been
there all along but
for some perverse purpose
the higher self refused
to show itself
you start to feel
a swagger in the prose
you identify as poetry
it comes and goes
just an oatmeal day until
a ruby throat sweeps
to a stop before you
bows and turns
humming humming
what have you got?
what have you got?
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