Muscle Poems

We decided on time apart for her to receive her visions. There she was, up all night, ghostly pale as a mystic. She spoke from where she believed her intellectual professions deserved finality. Too much inside her craft to know you can never master it. She became what she and we all most fear. Inside her lived a self-glorification, childlike, totally enumerated, not good at hiding except from herself. She seemed to operate from a ceaseless prayerfulness in her need for validation from God Himself.