Whereas

Savvy scientists scoff at the soul: Can't poke it, prod it, pinch it, probe it ~ and clearly can't claim to contemplate... an empirical, egg-headed, experimental all-enveloping ecstasy of erudite exactitude elegantly and eloquently embossed, embedded ~ in its entropy of effervescing exegesis. Whereas I know of no one -- nowhere -- nasty or normal knock-kneed, neck-naped, nose-gnarled neuron-nitpicked or nucleic-acid-nested Who denies indubitably or dubiously, definitely or deafeningly--deranged, demented, debauched or denatured -- the sacred sanctuary unsullied, where sits, serene and silent, the small, still sound of said soul swilling, swelling, seeking, sailing, soaring--- sensitively, sensorily, yea sentimentally--- til he sees, then sighs, then seizes so surreptitiously the serum of sentience Within! Entry in "An Inner Knowing, an Absolute Feeling, My Mystical Soul Self Poetry Contest," sponsored by Caren Krutsinger