Triplets

Unborn souls repose

in pods of three –

sleep snug together,

spoon-like, separated

by a straining membrane

pink as muscle

or a womb, leaving

precious little room

for intervention.

This explains the blunt

invention of the trinity:

the taste we have for

father, son, and holy ghost;

or ego, id, and superego;

butter, syrup and French toast –

transformation through

a triad toward the mind-

and-body dyad of the monad

we call what we think

we are: that singularity

of ‘me.’ But triplets

are how we begin to go.

We thought you’d

like to know.




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