Early to cock and early to summer,
on the adam of that dry morning.
Ark, a strong and gifted face,
made so of a single introduction,
for an ancient and a citizen population.

His first life spanned from nightfall high upon the sandstone,
to this day’s remaining morning calm,
when the sun who saw the deep
go rising trashing through the foothills and the valleysides,
many times a portion of the sea.

Of paper and a vehement ink,
a jagged tooth with cause, and without cause a snuffed tail.
The eight legged, two tailed.
The lone mare amongst the bulls.

They blanked spotting the condor,
and on beer baiting with the clawed,
a hare along the tree line rail,
without doubling back and finding doubley next.
An eye, if not lost in a friendly.
No more out or in.

Croc pegged to roo and all the noise.
Rape, by sigh and tempest of the eyes.
Stars and all the magic brought by rope.
One small fish beside a gap-jawed next,
made ancient now before him.

All about the tandem shackles,
a heart whose silly sap worth wetting.
And tho he’d set to task to ease them all, yea,
that they feed off a portion of his meat,
and each and every far between a black.

Unseen hand to reach the land unseen,
an arm and an arm and to the sun, the sun in turn to man.
Endless father, God of Escape, Lord the strength of gold,
while his dim fire stood by wind and water watched.

They set upon the beachhead without haul,
and in the daily lives of all the often set aside,
the worldly garrisons cleared from the face,
unseen at first against the knocking sun,
the dim had mingled with the sand
while the squeamish steady still remained
in the locketted tho entirely heartfelt whitewood.



One response to “Ark

  1. Pingback: Book 1 - Table of Contents « New American Writing

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