Submerged

Every Broken Thing

Submerged

The Poetry Of Lance McKnight

Submerged

            This time no green to weigh
            you down - no bronze
            to falter, tarnish or drift
            beyond horizon. You try
            to rein in life as if by twitch

            or godless claim wild monks
            scream out. Moaning hard to
            weather, snow or mountain.
            Forcing it down like politics

            or theology ill-defined. Sold
            by hucksters to foreign raiders.
            Molded as clay; fired
            and dismal in display.