THE SHOWER SERMON



The steel lotus pod
wilts weeping
in its upright
Perspex sarcophagus.

Prince Siddhārtha
had his Bodhi tree.
I’ve my before-coffee
morning shower.

It’s the pre-emptive
bathing of my wounds
to make them sparkle
for my audience.

To be a water
elemental
in the continuum
of its current.

The dolphin whistle
of its steering wheel.
Gardens of Persepolis
distilled in soap.

Nude in my cascading
mantle of hot water
though in the shadow
vale I fear no evil.

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