They leave a wet and winding trail behind
these knees where lips have stayed to guard the church.
A group of ten set forth along the bare
and rolling mounds of sanctimonious
prairies. The fleshy pools invite the brave
and careless few that might resist the words --
the scripture. Lighting candles, hoping for
a force to guide their prints toward the sphyinx:
a set of eyes that glow with peace and rage.
This sacred journey ends in heated prayer.

10/07/2004

Posted on 04/08/2006
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