We were children of the reconnaissance. Narrow focused and wide eyed, axes aimed officiously at the heavens, we guested with the Solomony and trickled toward the needless. It wasn’t a difficult task. To be allowed to keep our heads and proceed as wont with business. But the straights whited their shrill foam and gargled buoyantly. No monsters, only solemnity. And those of us left outside the easy stones were readily swallowed:
Prayerful is not
a matter of lifting nettles
toward the fires stoked
in Unrest.
Damn it! Bay the remedial
with alll awkward limbs
until the light
catches genuine tender.
These days render solitude moot.
STand back and heaVE
a gut wrenching
UP
to Jesus. Slap thigh, and bellow
back again. NOTEWORTHY!pivot
handfuls of sand,angst
for the mirabilary!pocking
creased feet
and back again.
Praise to scarlet robes inavoidable regardless the guts that animate their folds. Come up against a Bedouin or Gutter Punk with the mettle to throw bold color on the world. ‘Cause sense does not vacate or let be.
