he was gone with liquor and babbled ferociously in the night
like a man beset by bees
travelers mistook him for some Holy Fool
and their eyes did not entirely deceive them
for in parts he spoke the truth
yet mostly incoherent lost in a fabric of lies
knitted by some fraudster bent on deceit
and after a while he rested spent of his notions
like the torrents of spring and summer yield to autumn
and winter freezes them over in silence
the travelers were wise and they cherry picked his words
for sustenance by the wayside
but still he haunted them
like an effigy on the horizon they could not trust
unsure if he were a seer
or a man no better than they
Flynnpoetry 