I’m cold and smooth,
warm and wet.
Moses struck me in two
Where the walls, glisten with the fish swimming.
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I’ve thought of these water walls, touching the sound
Held only by an, Unseen Power.
Like. Shit. Just walk through it?
Swaying on one of those crazy high bridges,
steps of tiny slats, buckling under the weight.
Except. Except, my bones wouldn’t break.
Lungs, instead, full of liquid.
-
I’ve wondered, and felt, the ripples in these walls. The way the Sunshine makes it glitter.
Like jewels, or childrens’ eyes.
It would embody and a rainbow.
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But then I think of the carriages, there must be hundreds of horses.
How many off-to-war-men, shielded from blades but smothered in mud. Still pink, from being freshly dead?
Their bodies, they would float?
Near the surface or sunk in sand?
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Moses, that dude. I’ve always thought of red.
Robes wrapped around him, like some Leonardo.
I bet he was wicked tan. And had the hands of a working man. All that packing, and praying…
I’ve never envied Moses and all of his works. Life must have been a constant of crazy.
Dealing with them stiff-necked men. With their idols of gold, wood, numbers or stone.
Hungry bellies and tired faith.
Endless sand.
-
Then I’m back on the shore, where I can see the bright clear sky.
And again it starts.