THE ROARING OF
YELLOW CAMP
YELLOW CAMP
As the rocks of Santo Bello were piled at
the ridge, the high stations of some very
bizarre cross and story, so the water
trickled down. Turning swiftly into a
roar, just as soon as the dark sky opened.
We ran for a shelter, found leeward to the wind.
-
A few old women, I noticed, in their bedraggled
dresses, still insisted on crossing themselves.
Holy sites are forever, in staggered little minds
at least. Why bother? Ask them anything at all,
and they'll blame in some Divine alteration.
-
Alongside the muddied path, two girls were selling
flowers from a tray, and nearby, in a hut, a old
man offered ices and water for a price. For
the grand goodness of this one holy God,
perhaps the only one left indecisive, we
must cater to crowds and bring profit
and glory (of whatever sort) to God.
-
Subconscious motives make nothing
at all in the roaring of yellow camp.
the ridge, the high stations of some very
bizarre cross and story, so the water
trickled down. Turning swiftly into a
roar, just as soon as the dark sky opened.
We ran for a shelter, found leeward to the wind.
-
A few old women, I noticed, in their bedraggled
dresses, still insisted on crossing themselves.
Holy sites are forever, in staggered little minds
at least. Why bother? Ask them anything at all,
and they'll blame in some Divine alteration.
-
Alongside the muddied path, two girls were selling
flowers from a tray, and nearby, in a hut, a old
man offered ices and water for a price. For
the grand goodness of this one holy God,
perhaps the only one left indecisive, we
must cater to crowds and bring profit
and glory (of whatever sort) to God.
-
Subconscious motives make nothing
at all in the roaring of yellow camp.
No comments:
Post a Comment