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.
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