She’s Divine
Scatterbrained old woman,
Wrestling with existential dread,
Cataloging her complaints,
She sweeps her horrible broom.
She stirs the anxious pot.
She opens the self-critical oven.
She plants the awful herbs.
She burns the hate-filled pancakes.
She scrambles the Tarot Cards of Uncertainty.
She hangs, chapped, and rumbled.
Enter divinity.
Usual writing room, cross-legged posture.
What about pleasure?
Bonhomie?
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