4911. ESCAPING THE ESCARPMENT OF A LARGELY BELEAGURED TIME

ESCAPING THE ESCARPMENT 

OF A LARGELY 

BELEAGUERED TIME
My heavy-gird anchor has sunk me, it seems;

I am sinking to the bottom of a cold, dark sea.
There's a God who comes to visit me - says
little and doesn't have to swim to stay afloat. 
All this, while I am drowning. There's no care
like a Regent's care - who owns the keys,
where are the papers, and what lands are we
allowed to hunt on? Pathetic stuff, like a God

having to ask His people if He's really the Ruler
of all things. Ah, what's the use anyway?

-

The silver slippers of the sun just make me

think of that girl's negligee, nearly unseen and
transparent, working wonders at the Boy Scout
camp. A regular jamboree, a well-lit fire to the
campers to see, a place to bed down for the
night. The lean-to of the heart; the tepee
of everything we'd wish to see.
-
So, now, just let me run away; open up that
lock and key, you old, land-lubbing geek of a
God. I am tired. Iam quiet. I am but one,
when in truth I need a mob. Break down

these errant walls, and let's build a
trestle of bones and muscle 
and blood instead.