Citadels & Crosses

the parchment's overgrown now & flies no longer buzz down by the hydro-electric facilities - the bus route's open for business all along it twenty four hour cafes spring up like pillboxes some people speak of screams in the night houses on fire & some barely speak at all just a fingerbone or shattered skull whispers eloquent poems from a time long past but still living along winding trails known only to animals & their shepherds whil miniature obelisks mark the cemeteries of the present tentse & crosses send down rays of pure conviction from the rock- strewn hills & miraculous shrines small wonder then that this boy on the bus who thinks he has missed his stop wakes up shrieking - trying frantically to get out (who knows what kind of bad dreams he's running from - we've seen it all before we reassure him ... we know why his mouth opens just there where the bones are only so deep where the mosque is a finger of warning now black & every day dawns darker than the previous night (in visegard


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