Good Girl

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Hold up the universe, good girl. Hold upthe tent that is the sky of your world at whichyou are the narrow center pole, good girl. Rup-ture is the enemy. Keep all whole. The itchto be yourself, plump and bending, below a skyunending, held up by God foreveris denied by you as Central Control. Severyourself, poor false Atlas, poor "Atlesse," lierecumbent below the sky. Nothing falls down,except you, luscious and limited on the ground.Holding everything up, always on your own,creates a loneliness so profoundyou are nothing but a column, good girl,a temple ruin against a sky held upby forces beyond you. Let yourself curlup: a fleshy foetal figure cuppedabout its own vibrant soul. You arethe universe about its pole. God's not far.

© Peacock Molly