(Our shining, cosmic spirits
are encapsulated, prisoners
of borrowed, earthy flesh,
to be placed,
indelicately perhaps,
on our now-world...)

She has freckles galore,
she sees them in the mirror,
and she hates them,
feeling marred, marked,
ugly...she is sure
that without them,
her true self she could explore.

(Forgotten are the heavens
traveled through, joyously,
and freely, as unencumbered spirits,
pulsing through cosmically charged dust
and greeting births of stars...)

He has tried to ignore
that he is slowly going bald,
he hates it,
feeling bared, inferior,
ugly...he is sure
with a full head of hair,
he could make the score.

(Quasars of living light
search to the unlimits,
souls tag along blithely,
diving into black holes
to explore otherwhen...)

She can’t stop eating, anymore,
it’s a vicious circle,
and she hates herself,
feeling stupid, huge,
ugly...she is sure
if she were skinny,
she would be unhappy no more.

(Spectacular vibration-scenery
and infra-radar clash,
and meld, and the spirits dance
in cosmic fireworks
of supra-expansion...)

His shortness, he has come to abhor,
women look down on him,
he hates himself,
feeling stunted, undersized,
ugly...he is sure
if he were taller,
he could get his foot in the door.

(As one by one, the souls are set free
from fleshy constraints,
the spirits blaze with beauty,
multi-colors flashing, unfettered,
souls of light, dipping and gliding,
into the heavens, our true
birthright...)

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 8/18/02