Across windswept deserts,
Between magnitudes of water
Lapping away at our shores,
I ramble from thought to thought.
The beacon of direction
shifting with the wind.
Today my mouth was overrun with words.
My tongue lashed out like a flame
Looking to scorch anything in its path.
My fingers were torrential, a downpour
To quench the damage of my tongue
Rearrange the acts of violent thought
Into images and lines and any rhythm.
Tomorrow,
back to bleak desperate labor
Back to the push and mechanical pull of muscle
Back to the machinations of minutes
Tapping ceaselessly into the eternal.
A Sermon
of Shadows 