A Pilgrim's Sure Progress (Beyond Taut Gospel)
No more cigarettes,
Old, cold beer, unopened
In the big, white refrigerator
All my vices
Put on hold
At present
A Buddhist,
A Puritan,
An Ascetic
I
Am
Not
My past is rife
With a predilection
For impulsive excesses
All of it fogging
My own critical thought
And a pilgrim's sure progress
But there beyond taut Gospel
Still hangs my more colorful self
Hidden between the black of a wardrobe
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