A 1999 hallucination/optical illusion in verse, by Chris Wayan.
Across my street, a robed woman |
stands in an open grave.
A man in orange vestments
spades dirt upon her head.
She's only a foot or two high,
so even here in Frisco,
I misdoubt she's human.
Sure looks like Mary, though.
Hail Mary, buried alive!
But not alive for long:
Eyes no longer young.
Do all religions root in our demise?|
We myopics constellate
Orion in the night,
or Mary in the grave,
or gods behind all,
or life beyond the pall:
Illusions we are built to build.
Ah, this sandy streetside grave,
And yet, my night-vision's true.
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