With the Sunday Times this time came
the out-sized insert explains the archeology
of the soul, the binding of new bodies to old souls
something Jesuits tried with the Iroquois back when
and after they'd claimed mastery of the ipsimma verba of their own liturgical
language such that they would boldly tell the Indian they had made Latin
Which was another lie.
And since I'm as yet unaware of evidence of the Oneidan altar boy,
an Ondogan Catechism, or a Mohawk talking
-stick that has some tender-heart's first
I shake-out the Times bag
again after having done it once, already studied the insert,
and I'm positing a soul bundle ensnared in the bag,
compromised such by the route-man's packaging that
history, later, would never notice the damage done or the flop
-cakes calling themselves neighborly or righteous who intersect
our soul-laden lives lived nearby - the seven or eight of these
running into and over us
in the ordinary course of our Sunday morning
through no fault of their own because they had never caught up with Corn Spirit or Earth
Mother or whatever...
...who ought to have untangled, unbundled the souls
off my drive-way, passed them on...