24 March 2014

The fountain was a signpost IV

The world spirit rides saddleless
the weary horse beggared by vast journeys.
Clad in nothing but tattered parchments
and symbols of the new regime
scattered about the surface
of his glistening body
basking in the brilliant sun
and the primeval shine of crowds.
Among them lurks the town seducer
a pamphleteer and recusant,
clasping his manuscript
The Topology of Chaotic Undulations and the Riddle of Schein.
He shouts,
“the fountain is our signpost,”
yet now he must break loose.
Another nail quietly inserted.

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