The blind one steps through bones
he does not see. He follows the sound
of the river. If only he can see the river
red as cut blood & what walks behind
him dragging something wicked along.
He hears the scream but thinks it the
wind against his ears. The deaf one sits
among the throng & watches the
mouth of everything. He thinks he
reads words from their lips but all they
do is scream. He prophesies from what
he reads & the throng listen to his
words. The dumb one cannot scream.
He runs after the blind one, to turn him
from the destruction he metes out
benevolent from his outstretched
hands. He is not fast enough & the
thing between them is hungry. He tries
to tell the throng that they are heading
the wrong way but no one listens to
silence. The cripple watches the deaf &
wonders why he does not get up & run,
why he lies to the people. He shouts at
him & crawls towards him but the
throng will not let him through. They
believe this is salvation. The dead wait
for the blind one is coming to them. He brings gifts. He brings gifts.
