passing the plate Sunday morning,
along pews of stoic necessity is reprieve
to manic souls, hidden under six days
of self-pleasure, self-ishness - "hidden"
the operative code no matter the effort
of indulgence, or its intent.
It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman
Shared by Tess Kincaid
Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker