Rusty Lynn and
KJ Hannah Greenberg

Rusty Lynn
“Crosier Bishop Beast”

Sansen Sessions and Woodland Sprints
By KJ Hannah Greenberg
Inspiration piece

As though no instance of maidens had marked his cycles,
Thunder quavered his silent bending forward then back.
Weeks of woods journeying, all solitude, where cool
Mountain tops bred pure waters, where gentle air puffed
Toward probable ends, where reliably finite segregations,
Separations among species, terrains and temperatures,
Promised human tactics as peripheral to woodland glamours,
Proved small influence when countering wars’ vast machines.

Prepared by a craggy experience, that cousin, all crosier,
Dog, also fabric backpack, cared little for earned insignia.
There, above sleepy crofts, where human relicts, like
Wonderers, thieves, maybe bagpipe players, might mistake
Sprouted Existence for aspirations toward higher levels,
It was no golem, but a lesser, fleshy apprentice, a gale force
Of sorts, one compromised by eye saccades, who watched
As rape, pillage, other evil ministrations, recurred again.

His share of previous harvests’ profits, had bought cold
Lentil stew, plums, hard bread, along with a flask of wine.
Aphusimos behavior suited those of his ilk beneath firs, such
That their contributions to political breakouts were standard,
Enforced with bit of biting wire, knives, coarse ropes, staffs,
Until such service became viewed as irresolvably flawed,
Became seen as unnecessarily dirty to advisors of reigning kin.
Then townsmen macheted all of his team, without pang of guilt.


Note:  All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it.  Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and writing permission fro the author or artist is strictly prohibited.