The Pilgrimage: Part 25 / Phillip Neal Tippin

A goodness drawn
From pen and paper.

I Keep scrupulous records of my debt
And overspending, Jeffersonian checking
Which mollifies a heart’s budget un-kept.

Cardinal Vice:
You will have been found to have
Smashed your face against the glass,
Window of your wasted spring,
For a fleeting view of self.

The sky is sharing of its upper air today
Bending low to give us a breath of spring.

There’s anticipation of rain in the pine
While the white irises bloom blind.

How can I face persecution 
If I can’t Face pleasure?

Self as a shallow inland sea
Ever silted, filling in the deep.

To maintain my local culture
I dare not wash my face.

The moon let on
By walnut frond
To lightning bug
And fickle moth.


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2020-2021 by Phillip Neal Tippin. All rights reserved.

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