He pushes
an old wheel barrow,
the French monk,
loaded with manure,
fork sticking out
at the front end;
he walks along
the track
by the abbey,
head down,
thinking of Christ,
no doubt ,
and His
loaded cross.
I polish
the choir stall wood
with a yellow dust cloth
and orange
polish-muck;
she let me lay
my head
between her thighs,
murmuring sighs.
The old monk,
lays out the altar,
prepares things
for the high mass
that morning
with the seriousness
of a sad mourner.
Between Worlds.
Re: Between Worlds.
Terri you monster you 

Doll, you may have found a place of rest but I'm still on the trail.
- revolutionR
- Posts: 932
- Joined: December 15th, 2013, 12:46 am
Re: Between Worlds.
Hes handy with that wheelbarrow.
it cold also be a way to cart his
holy water tears around.
he's French so he likes the wine blood
it cold also be a way to cart his
holy water tears around.
he's French so he likes the wine blood

- justwalt
- Posts: 895
- Joined: January 28th, 2009, 4:18 pm
- Location: location infers reality... reality is still a theory
Re: Between Worlds.
and at any given moment,
we usually find ourselves
doing the most important
things in our lives...
sobeit
we usually find ourselves
doing the most important
things in our lives...
sobeit
many is a word
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