The Rockies can’t recall how to walk.
They tried once,
and became All
But the winds hushed their wounds
with a comforting song, and they fell
into soothing repair—
until lightening struck down
to remind them,
“Wake up! Eat your wounds, you impetuous fools!
Rainbows don’t grow where you sleep!
Bleed them from voyeurs on stars;
Yet, all The Rocky Mountains could do,
after so much forgetful reminding,
was rumble their bowels like empty buffoons
at the banquet
of Turkish delights.
And the lightening stopped striking
their uniform clocks
and the brass ring of earth
turned to silk—
and how good it felt to cut
through to naked
like newborn assassins
of time’s most illustrious,
fastidious! Like the yolk of immortal was mine!
the most wretched of all:
with limbs made of diamonds—
and the begging for more of the
vine-covered, dirt-crusted, scraping stone wheel
© Kristin Reynolds 10 4 2010
ah life—ain’t she grand!
Yes—can you tell? another Rimbaud inspired poem.