O Sunday

A sunday smile, a wave in the head, a kona wake of sobering sweat.

In the cool sheen of morning a graywetted stone shout, erejaculated in a tide of purple paper flowers, currents past sittingstill me as the world moves under my stillowing foot.

Religion in the road: a congregated tributary of livingflesh flows veinedly to the throbbing pulse of sacrament to soon return in the arterial noonshine.

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