Fetcher

My walls are down, down.
Crickets rasp, mosquitos drink.
What is my town, now?
A shining crack behind my think.
Dull stumble blocks to how.
I am raped with thoughts in links.

In my pulpit, echoes strike
with eclectic voice, a ravening,
coarse, untuned, torn ribbon like,
the shredding reels in quite tyranny
of myriad lives storied to fright
restless cacophony in fractured see.

They came at night, times ago,
the voices of never, speak to me
in loud places in my opening, so
demanding of audience in plea,
ripples in tight bites, forever ghost
predicaments and poor indemnity.

I listen in distant owned belief,
as their course cracks the indigo,
runs scarlet with their mutter, seethes
pretensions' stories, lack the below
to defeat the everyday laid to breathe
whispers to catch the panic furor.

I follow faint my own cognition,
beneath crowding, strangled stories,
synopsis of my self attrition.
Their loves, their hates, their glories
thread me blind, such rendition,
their murmurs writhe, endless roarings.

I hear the message behind their lips.
Secrets behind locked closet doors
croak with pity, their sudden grips
my denial, soaks my gasping pores.
I am mentation's gate, reason slips.
The me is new, they are the more.

I must live within the calls
tumbling to my mind-born catcher.
Pressure to the edge, thin smalls
of life tides, tragedies, small lecher
dreams in my head, face the halls
of realization, cast as the fetcher.

� 2000 DPMcClellan