A woman's just a padded cell, in situ:
With mirrored tile reflections, of former occupants
Reveals their once desires, like long past feast
That's been viewed only partially, through a narrow hall,
...
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I have to say this, I know I do not totally get it all and it bothers me a bit, but I think that is a good thing? ? ?
Wow, there is so much deep soul in this one, ineffable is the word I am stuck with, but long to speak more. Faulkner and Dickinson and Poe are visions of ghostly readers I feel visiting here. Eros and pathos mingle in a delicate milieu throughout. This is superbly deep, and freshly flowing with being. I am really at a loss for 'proper' words here to describe what this poem fires in my spirit, but I must say: thank you for so vividly and openly baring your mind to us your inspired readers. Courageous complexity is creative!