Find the Prophet II

Poetry. Prompt — Poetic Parable

Find blood in rings on mountains, cut by the wind Find ribs shaped inside them, by sharp reaching rivers

In the infinite whirlpool of your moist moving gut, find your Prophet Listen to the grunts and whispers of your bowel, follow that trail

It is the children on your head and the sack of humans you drag as you go It is the denuded neck packed with voice; strands of oiled hair drying up

You stand bent in the pool of your making. Stand up — erect — and walk You sit hunched on floor baked with guilt. Extend your chin, time has come

Look towards the eternal. Words. Food. Taste. Sleep. Watch them fade Find your body at a pause. This is where you reside farthest from failures More vital. More cadaver.

Your half child will become half ghost. Your half lover will stay half nopal They will find their own corners to weep. Your heavy footsteps shall go on

Each flake of skin you lose, is you. Each breath that you leave, is you gone It is the halts between the chase that keep you together. Dream — Curl those dreams into shapes only yours — Leave each one in a white warm stream of water—

Part two of —

In response to David S. prompt — Poetic Parable