Earthly thoughts so distant now,
So uttered the hell-bound poltergeist preacher
As he knocked on the holly wood of imperatives,
To let the Spielberg horror movie in the house,
Yelling:
We want the angel!
Instead consider hard work
Sweeping wooden floors by the grip of a broom,
A spindle to all the worlds,
A gavel through the koans of self,
A laughter of plentiful rivers,
The golden dust of moths spiraling upwards
Dancing amidst the ecstatic aloneness
Of infinite love.
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