unreconciled salvation


 the shrink tells him
   he's delusional,
   filled with false guilt
   over the nightly visits
   he says his town saint,
   church-every-Sunday
   mom forced on him,
   gives him more meds
   and a turnaround discharge
   but he continues to work
   a nail into his palms
   searches for fallen thorns
   and caves with movable rocks
   while passersby stare
   at this unkempt man mumbling
   about redemption as he paws
   through McDonald's garbage.
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About Pris Campbell


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Pris Campbell makes angels wings on her bedspread in her spare time between writing weird poems about dead people and old loves. She lives now in South Florida and is convinced it'll sink before the end of the next decade from the weight of too many condos and resorts. She has published eight collections of poetry...read more and her poetry has been seen lurking in such journals as Outlaw Poetry Review, Chiron Review, Boxcar Review, Red Fez, Rusty Truck, PoetsArtists and many others.
3 comments
Discussion
  3 months ago
I appreciate the likes for this poem.
  3 months ago · in response to Dan Jacoby

    Dan, thanks for your comment. Yes, sad and true.
  3 months ago
very good very sad very true

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