Freed At Last

A sheep in wolf’s clothing,

my tongue cuts heart like a double-edged sword,

break bones and crush diaphragms

words breeds soul like specter-guided algae bloom

give life to those who seek hope

death to those who turn tail and swim away,

for I make a mockery

of theories, hypothesis, vain rationalizations

of the human mind.

I sit on heaven’s throne

a bishop amongst pawns,

heralded as a celebrity within a celebrity and

wolves that languish at my feet

begging to lick the crumbs off my plate

while I pet them on the top of their heads,

saying, “good dog, good dog.”

After all is said and done,

the jury comes back with the verdict:

not guilty, and I leave the courtyard

on a red carpet tongue with bulbs of hard work

flashing in my woolen face

where I move flocks with mere words

from one mountain to the next.