A harangue, illustrated by my vocals
Flails to dirt caked ears from the podium
And the hardbringers had brought
warning of my speech
Say I am testifying as a God of men
Marked reprehensible, a verbal leper
Instead of flesh, my mind is bricked
According to the whispers at least
Caught in the hail of abstruse ideas
The onlookers swarm with hoarse-
“Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!”‘s
Instruments of flowery words
Tuned to abrogate mine
They are all swayed by the last person
Standing where my sandals bake
Knowing the next will call mine blasphemy
And pluck the crowd’s chords
Each note resonating the speakers’ tenuous ideas
Gazing on the infected crowd, a cluster of discredible material
Oozing out of slack jaws
I imagine them all the equivalent of cow flesh hooked
I step to the side, my shadow and I done
Throat dry, looking to the podium above my own
“Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!”
Jeremiah Walton
