Fullers’ Soap

Christine Havens

Drink the river water fill until full your bladder pour your urn-ed piss into a vat new wine waiting to become old wine ready for aqueous violence to strengthen the strands of wool shorn and spun begotten of ram and ewe for you to stomp and stomp wrinkling your nose against the ammonia stench of taxed human waste that somehow releases the grime and grease you poor you hungry you slave you least among them the wooly white your actions reveal will cover legions of sins if your skin is not as pure you will be trampled reviled your feet ache and stink will he wash them without minding the smell of piss that was once the same river water into which he was immersed?

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