the Crier

What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind?
— 
Matthew 11:7

In the manner of the sea I love you
unfaithfully and always,
always I write about you and me
under many guises, gauzes

The hidden you is wound,
the plastic cover is me, elastic-
dynastic sometimes, for, like
John the Baptist, I prevent you from

Exploding on impact with the world;
being the first to touch, I’m preparing
a messianic protectorate
ground. It is my role

To cry behold, feed on honey and
sleep in the shade,
observing my sounds as they strike
on nothingness.

Only the sun doesn’t have a shadow
and you.

Though in times like these,
when my docile fever prevails,
when my waves return like ragged sheets of water,
when my blood turns apologetic,

‘you’
appears to be unapproachable,
ecclesiastically
foreign.

Yet I never despair
I never lose faith.

My nights are nomadic
my screams sporadic
& my soul full of
tigers.

I am
the Crier;
I announce
human ellipses,
eclipses.


Kandinsky - Development in Brown

Kandinsky – Development in Brown