Shannon April Alice Poet Prose

Song of the Miscreants On Glory Road

Storm into that room so you will be seen, and
hold up high, sun salute
that body, that vessel you got!
Take every vertebrae, mmm pull it taught
Pull it.
Pull it as twine itself 
wrapped around my words-
each bone
creaking like footfalls on old wooden stairs. 
And look directly at your soul-
Do not squirm in the shame
of your nakedness -
beautiful lustful abundantly naked-
Instead
Crest, oh lord,
White swirling madness of intentions.
and  take these old bones, baby-
take this body
Take these old bones of mine and pull them up, 
Stretch, find the strength! and pull-
Take those limped shoulders and throw them back to the gods!
Oh your rusted soul, fill it with water from the Darma Dirty Crick.
And it might
burn-
sting and sour.
Make you cough, choke and sputter.
But oh
Renewed, Renewed!
And you start out with the feet, kicking rocks on the road, mmmm.
And end with the head bowed back with a psalm bouncing on 
red berry lips, mmm
Oh, yes! Hands out to glory, oh feet moving, dancing 
hot pavement below like Hades.
Step and another, another.
Until  your out of  frame...
Oh glory is the road.
Cleaned and cleansed as you go, 
Hear me? Cleansed as you go, down Sinner Lane.
Cleansed and cleansing is the road 
of the
revival parade.

sahn 8/25/14
I write. Whenever anyone reads my work? I'm always just a little bit amazed . 
Thank you, as always.

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