It is well        with my soul.

It is well with        my soul.

It is well like a soup.
 
 
 
the bucket of living a day in my life

is knowing it’s a soup.
 
               garlic,

                onions,

               tomatoes

               red pepper,

            scotch pepper,

                bell pepper,

           alligator pepper.

let’s not ignore the meat, that’s me[an].

If I say I’m the pork of most days,

will that mean that I’m conservative?

or that I have no beef left in me,

save for the soft bleached cowskins.

regardless I’m what is being cooked, the soul

of the soup, the chicken feet, & the rabbit ears.

So yea, it is well with      my soul in a soup.

It is well      with my soul in this soup.

but the dearth of faith inside me

when I say amen is also a well.

     clayed,

     big as a civil war,

unmistakable cos it’s raised on a hill

   like an obese nose,

     untimely,

     yet yielding to seasons.

So    It is well with my soul in November.

    It is well with my soul in July

     It is well when the soup is bad

    It is well when the well is dry.