The Road to Damascus

Without a prayer
the town made do --
spires and flying buttresses
were not its inclination.
A hard flat road,
a store each mile,
magazine rack,
the barber shop,
each composed of such.
But here or there,
each and both,
the same hand plays
into the coil
of groin and gut --
the road below
the church above --
you are you
all alone
and that is not enough.
  


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