I Am A Mountain Kafkaesque
(Kafkaesque)
All ill manner of men dances at the bottom of my flowing skirt,
A circus of vultures aiming high, playing solitude in the dirt,
Trumpeting flames reading Classics, wasted carcasses of men.
Eyes inward turn and swivel gazing at owls skipping while they pray,
The sun sports a migraine downing aspirin hungover from yesterday,
I cover my eyes in snow, a blindfold to welcome my uninvited guests,
Where Rivulets flow like serpents on crutches walking up and down my face,
Wingless white ravens caw in Latin prayer dressed In black Chantilly lace,
The clouds descend in lifts as white crows feet purge my tears to earth.
Gravediggers with knives for picks clamour my soul in fancy dress,
Clinging to a petticoat to scale crevices flouting love without caress,
Damned if I should reveal my heart and soul but man shall feel my wrath,
Throwing debris from overflowing landfills a wasteland for your dreams,
Sheep with thread and needle stitch an unseen heart that you have bled,
As I gather my cloak around me and spit out the well read laughing dead.
In shimmering mirrors I see a rose who reflects love of self in bloom,
Soaring above and below the surface in a carnival of threatening costumes,
While stretching on my tippy toes to kiss the sun and delinquent naked moon.
A creation of beauty and devastation when tectonic plates collide,
My summit is my sanctuary with views that span millennia and miles,
Watching mountain goats in bowler hats singing opera while they fly.
Wonder at me for what I am , leave my world to it's goats and sheep,
Of costumes cloaked day and night while lesser greatness sleeps,
And allow the awe you seek to fall and rise above your shallow peaks.
Copyright ©
Daniel Caplin
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