Hey! Come look at this!
I said to myself
my autopsied brain examined
like the NSA does e-mails,
astonishment
written all over my face.
She has a modicum
of human decency,
for we would have thought
she was some bitch
like that friend of Denise,
that helped us practice
how to cringe at the creature.
A heart bigger
than the Grinch after Christmas
unspoiled,
with the imprint
of cynics running at large
all over a disbelieving world.
We need not bother with
the mistakes,
defiance
willful disregard,
as they are just like everyone else,
when reckoned against
the Great I AM.
Still,
there is something here
worth preserving,
impressions embedded
within a repentant soul.
Her best moments
singularly angelic,
remarkable for their naiveté,
seem to be all about
nothing, nothing,
just nothing,
of value to the wise ,
the mighty
of an arrogant world.
Instagram to St. Peter:
she died possessed,
of an unselfish love.
