Poems from a Friend - Outrider
Article Index
Page 21 of 31
Outrider
I unsheath
from my boot
3,000 wet tongues,
grim bladed
butterflies
sent out to riot in
the night,
wing tips dark as hot razors
stained with the blood
of
a
long
haired
poet.
I unsheath
these wet things,
hold them level
at sea,
one man standing
against
all comers,
long haired, doublebraided,
point taken,
praying for hope against
the bellowing
sea
of
the
East.
Copyright © Horse of the Sun and Keith Haines 1999-2002. All Rights Reserved.