For the following exercise, I asked my sister to give me a few words, a rhythm, and a rhyme scheme to play around with--not wanting to exert myself and generate my own material. The verses below are the product of these, not of some profound rumination on the nature of the soul.
* * *
What is the substance of a soul unsheathed?
Fuzzed dandelions spread like sun-spots on
the grass? Or Grand Canyon bombasts of dumb
high depths? Or sycophant bad-breath all wreathed
in sweets? Or helium inspired chiffon?
or just a stem of red geranium?
* * *
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