THE MARCHING BOOTS

MET the Light that beats down my face
   a splice of time & space and twelve elders
 when they came the women fainted and livestock too
— oh .  Whoa.       My faith grew unto a forest
of gentle green to kill their unholy kind : we’ve
been blind: there’s no denying
Oh!  yea!  i’ve been crying.
  — walking all i see the sun
just the sun of ‘in my eyes’
  its sane/as i scream these
razor eyes\ come find me come
find me — ooooooh now.

:: 07.25.2020 ::