4.27.2010

(Cave Dweller)

Digging into a stack of
memories waist-high,
drug by an under current of
tall tales and legends.
A starry sky three floors up,
doors locked, patience is wrought with
wicked-mimicing mysteries.
Ministries seem misplaced as we
hang the sheets in the wind.
Swing,
Low,
Sweet chariot race into the plains to
avoid bump and burise.
run from born and
fear the fall onto the
face-forward functions of
an anonymous algorithm of rhetoric.
practice what you preach,
perfecting speech,
pronounced predictions sighing it
a loud, self-fulfilling breath
leading into a
vacant prophecy.