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The grace of Grace

"Once I spied a soft bag of offal
swaying down the boulevard
nestled by thirty feet of digestive tract
and grown from dewy lips of rose
inching past hips that curved and flowed like hourglass sands.

The offal's Buddha-nature turned to me and said:
'When I was a buffalo, I knew
that someday soon I would arise as man;
this now I know too -- that these hips
and sweet lips
will be offal again.'

I did not argue, but took its number instead."


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