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Date Posted: 12:02:15 06/18/01 Mon
Author: Neo-Muse
Author Host/IP: 216.68.174.22
Subject: To Raw Poetry

To Raw Poetry

Lie it down
deep inside the
droplets of cave water
spiraling so quiet to the
pool of clear heavenly mirrors
It is raw
like the back of a beaten slave
torn open with the lash of a whip
soaked in brandy
A hand on paper
a signing of pardon
call it free
till the jester in his bell worn boots
knocks at your door
wearing the wreath of sand time
ticking
dropping
I only hear the knock late
when the moon and her children
dot what is left of light
calling a harvest of pilgrims
To till me wet memories for
the raw live stories sketched
cave water

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