Griot's Deposition

We poor amateurs Scour the gutter where words Make overtures At our hearts. Not me I hold each tresspasser For ransom And set each to earn A new wage in meaning, For they will tell The story that I say Subtle as if to play But authentic The veil of life to tear away And then t melt as clay. I enter the fortress of mountains I sing from the abyss of seas And thought a purling fountain Bring me bended to my knees. Tell Daedelus, his son lives I Icarus Have wings better than wax Except for feathers lost In the Atlantic voyage Coming, I fly By the bouyancy of self lost In the ancient quanta Of ancestral words. Revoke My status in your brain.