in a ghostland is
learned as past deeds of humble Saints afore the cross drive home nails of rusted caustic revelations
he rides the planet in a cage and questions not his transit
he is so familiar with the desert caves of birth and death
they are akin to a brother and his sister
he sits astride a living catafalque
their anniversaries resonate as strings are plucked by a ghostly quartet or a planetarium cranked around in weird Copernical circles
the imbecile inside the locked cage of history dragged along alone by random saints speculates enabled of wild wisdom
the universe he cries
the universe
Flynnpoetry 