CHELLE MIKO : Brown-Bagged Religion
JOSEPH OUELLETTE : A Day With Starlight Solo
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Surgery Brown-Bagged Religion A Day With Starlight Solo

I sat on the bed in the hospital, dressed in a new pajama- shiny and with dragons on-my wife had bought just for this hospitalization, reading a newspaper, the surgeon came in, said halloo told me his team was the best, reassuring smile told me not to worry. A girl, in blue came, served be soup and there was a sign on my bed that the patient should have no breakfast. Triple bypass I struggled to think of something grim like the hereafter and god, but was more alarmed about this stupid war in Iraq. At dawn they gave me a pill, I read a poem I had written about Marilyn Monroe which I liked; then for hours I was suspended in dreamless nothingness. When I awoke I had lost the last trace of any religious beliefs.
I have many things to write unto you but I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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Surgery Brown-Bagged Religion A Day With Starlight Solo

Brown-Bagged Religion
A nurse pressed his jeans into one; she knew better than to burn Lennon's anything. We've labeled his blood- splattered end, guarded his signature spectacles, taken it all in. Report cards: does well if he applies himself. Sketches: he and Yoko swirled into an O. Pencil-scratched lyrics blown up & bottled for viewing--his is an endless wake, and a white phone's perpetual ring: Yoko has more time to lose. She wants to know if we believe in anything. And so this is Christmas...and what have you done? Isn't it enough (someone ought to say) that we've preserved him, that we've imagined his fall, that we've kept him naked and faceless and fetal, on a bed framed by pews?
Poetry endangers the established order  of the soul - Plato

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Surgery Brown-Bagged Religion A Day With Starlight Solo

A Day With Starlight Solo
I greet her. She nods, Slowly, Imperiously. Familiar, yet restrained. I know her moods as she does mine. She inclines to my touch.. softly... We sense the change that is each other. She is constant, always welcoming, But with a newness, a freshness, that makes me smile. Languidly she stretches. I clothe her; make her ready as she immerses me in our shared liturgy. And now.... we move.... in perfect time, Subtle measures, no movement in excess. A product of long knowing and loving care. Yet another exploration of who we are; together. We challenge the other in subtle ways. With great respect and laughing taunts. Touching, tentatively the extents of the other. Delightfully probing the boundaries. We love publicly. In full view. But with a veiled arcane intensity. The sum of endless encounters. Generations of lovers hopelessly bemused in the other. A dance without form. We move Effortlessly, without reserve or care. The steps not planned; not written. Time is irrelevant. We exist in suspension; Learning the dances and yearning for more. From gentle waltz to passionate tango We celebrate each other and the day. Sated now.. We both begin the closing calm. Slowly I dress her for sleep and quietly leave. She, with a languid nod, warmed by the joys of the day. I, clothed in memories of her.
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CHELLE MIKO : Brown-Bagged Religion
JOSEPH OUELLETTE : A Day With Starlight Solo

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