By Jeremiah Walton
The Opiate Souls pop open orange bottles as if peeking through The Door to God and observing the celebration of Himself and the prison of reality
The Door creaks opens only to trap curious junkies, try to take your eyes away!
The Hungry Souls groan overfed but still lick the dark roofs of their mouths in anticipation of the next meal
The Alcoholic Souls plunge their tongues in drinks, blindly looking for the glass's bottom
The Poetry Souls crunch small chips of prose together claiming creativity and divine unity
The Suited Souls play gold violin strings singing Holy Hymns of income
The Emaciated Souls rub dirty finger tips together imagining violins
The Watered Souls bloom spiritually, not desiring question of where the water comes from
The Dry Souls question and seek answer, where does the water come from? who desires to soak life into our roots?
The New England Souls bucket foliage to sell to Southern Souls
And the Southern Souls ceram wrap tobacco to sell to the New England Souls
The Traveling Souls exchange stories for drinks in bars
The Platonic Souls bath in the river naked but do not touch each other
The Door Hinge Souls creak and God's eyes are on us
an excerpt from To Your Health: Humanity's Diagnosis