for fine knitting, unraveling down a slight slope,
a steeper one
End-times perhaps, and perhaps only
the ukases issued with numbing regularity
and arrogant familiarity from multi-hued
a city of bald hearts and grasping nails
the sainted man, still living, followed
into the desert, hard dry place of sand
and rock, things that scurry, seeking shade
if it can be found, or a cave
refugees from a terror of tolerance
tearing at the twine, slicing threaded sinews
tuxedos and designer gowns
encircling the burlap with its upside-down
and yellow crucifix, brittle laughter
or ridicule, either would suffice
for the purpose
Photograph by Lynn Grayling via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
Deep! A poem to read again, Glynn.
This simply blew me away, Glynn. I'm in total agreement with Mary here!
Mary and Martha (no Biblical imagery intended here) - thank you. This was one of those ideas that seized my mind and wouldn't let go until I wrote it down. It's different from what I usually write. I know what prompted it, but I didn't expect it to take the direction it took. Thank you so much for reading it.
Post a Comment