Poetry
Night Hawke
Dream of the Prophet"I am not the one you know but the one you seek" said the prophet her hair black in flowing braids to knees smelling of snuff, buckskin, and lilacs "The one you seek has no face you know so I wear the one the face you do know as a dream of snow reveals you've kicked the blanket from your bed." Dream sun squinting eyes she turned ancient faced bronzed and creased into subtle smile and folded hands callused across her lap "Listen ;" The secret of Power: "The river is mighty because the stream hears the mountain's will and knows the sea is thirsty The ocean is vast for it drinks from every river large and small from every stream old and new The wind is strong when it accepts the sun --the sun that birthed every lust under heaven-- and returns the rivers' tears to the mountain The mountain rises to take the rain from the sky because it knows it is weary to carry it so far And the desert is dry because it will not stand up to the wind. When you understand this you will understand power when you understand power you will know love and when you know love you will have wisdom" These were the secrets the prophet spoke Hank Killed the Devil in Harland Bottom BogWarm blanketing mist rolled August fog across Harland Bottom half moon slicing through drops dew hung dripping from kudzu laden trees Frogs swamp singing to stray amphibimuse Russell stooge thumped fists flying into sweaty palms walking the white line Trey Moe thwacked him quiet Hank walked silent footfalls fading into fog the bog chirping, hooting, sleeping into the midnight moonlight Runt lagged six paces behind the pack jeans dragging asphalt fraying more threads dangling into boot heels made him 2 inches taller than short Rusty muffler rumble V-8 echoing thru timbers Pepper Cox in his beaten step side lights heading around the crossroads glowing halos into long fog shadows Runt grunted "Pepper" the footstep quartet skirting to the shoulder crouched in the ramble bye the Constable half drunk hound dog Hal driving him home again hanging from the passenger window howling at moon shadows Red lights braked timing chain skipping back firing as Pepper pulled to a roaring stop face white whiskered over shoulder shouting "Boys" Hal growling "Ya'll need not be a runnin round out here, likely get killed dead." Grinding gears he resumed the ride home to his other half case of beer Trey inhaled passing the roach into Russell's thumping palms coughed out "Shit" waiting for Pepper to pass gas burning out black smoke into the fog Boys resumed the walk into the Devil's lair Runt lagging six paces behind the pack Nobody walked the bottom to the dark of night the dead of night when the bog yeilded the harvest of a hundred years the fountain of a dead grave the muse of the mist the source of silence the bottom of daylight bottom of life Evil dead reared up in sunlight those who tried to hide in the dark Devil's lair had a fountain with a demon's head breathing mist to the evil garden and out to the bog A myth to most but to those who walked in daylight it was there, real remnant brick crumbling the stone head spouting rays of evil from blind eyes Inverted crosses wrought the iron gates lacing the ancient garden the ranks of a forgotten clan passed to generations of the Born Again. Hank didn't hold cotton to the devil lore thought the Henley brothers the only true slime to ever ooze from the bog thirteen mean sons of bitches and their dad till they threw him from the back of a moving pick-up everybody said they all phucked their sister the only girl she had tits enough for 12 more men to hold Runt dragged heels against thread bare nerves as the four boys bound by pride, fear, stupidity, and a bud lid squared their spines ripping oxygen from the fog as they approached the mossy shrine ever-ready beaming lights glaring into the stone demon's mouth Gasping as bats flapped through the summer sky the boys settled in sitting on the edge of the old stone wall that lined the dry pool the wrought iron gates creaking in the night breeze Russell kicked Reeboks and thumped stooge thumps to occupy the time Trey licking another joint into roll as a flame lit another puff of eternity Runt thought he saw red eyes in the mist and hid his own as a Night Hawk flew over The boys waited Waited Swamp burping out cricket songs till dawn when Sol's rays proved the Devil no scarier than Sunday Schools Revelations |