David Walker Poet Rhyme

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The Rustic Crusts of Manna

The Rustic Crusts of Manna
Davie J Walker 

I am the one who stripped the 
Sponsor from my jersey 

And the number meaning nothing 
But an identity recorded in a dry book

Making me invisible to the 
Odd gods of your reality

You speak my own language 
In ways that defy life or death
Or the direction of the Sun's path

In the aftermath of its 
Examination with the
Illusions of reality strewn in the
Branches of Stone Pine on the
Appian Way to Rome 

Here we may pick our own 
Venders of the streets 

And eat the sweet ideal on 
The rustic crusts of manna 

It is here that we should speak freely
For who will interpret our intentions
From separate graves

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