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Epistle I - the Mustang
(I)
I am the nomad
traversing the frontiers
a desert cemetery
serving as a basin for vipers
waiting to spread
their venomous message
and snip away
at the fragile thread
that serves as my tightrope
(II)
As I walk through
the valley of the
shadow of death
and crawl closer to
the mouth of hell
I toss pages of scripture
between those
honeydew lips
each word
a boxer’s right hook
a scimitar slash
that severs
the clinging clots
choking my arterials
(III)
For, it is written
The man that calls
upon Christ
shall be spared
from having
the noose fastened
firm around his neck
(IV)
Whom shall I fear?
with the Sheppard
by my side,
the sourness of
poverty is sweeter
than Persian sherbet
(V)
Whom shall I fear?
through Christ,
the Antarctic
gale-force winds of loneliness
that blistered
my cracking visage
is a mild breeze that
sterilizes the wounds
left behind by
the wages of Pauline transgression
(VI)
You hoist me
towards the
promised pastures
where I roam
like a mustang
galloping atop
the mountaintop
unbounded
by the weight of
the world’s chastisement
Copyright ©
Shiraz Bautista
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