earthquakes and riverbeds

one day i heard

a prophet on the street-corner

talking of legacy

he was gnarled and twisted

he was missing a front tooth

and the other hung by a string

flapping like a flag in rhythm

he was a white fellow

with skin that looked painful

worn and exposed to the elements too long

he had on an old army jacket

and was missing his left arm

his beard had become a hiding place

for crumbs and leaves and sticky things

i think he was one of the people

i should have been scared of

i wasn’t afraid

i was, however, intrigued

the gentleman was having a heated debate

and the other participant was invisible

the main topic of discussion

centered around

foot-prints made by him v foot-steps made by others

i missed half of the conversation

i never heard the argument mr. invisible made

but the guru said profound and exciting statements

his foot-prints were left in many different countries

he was following the foot-steps of great generals

his foot-prints moved borders

changed histories

rearranged families

the trail he blazed, he blazed well

he could make a mother fall to her knees

and beg and plead and barter

he could make the ground shake

men could bleed and scream

by his prescence

he had changed worlds

he had been a god

and those mothers, children, fathers

the people living near his path of flames

would pray to him, begging for mercy

lighting candles in his name

mr. invisible had been outwitted

and went to stir up another wasp nest

somewhere, anywhere else

the man who had become a god and returned as a man

looked at me

there were rivers flowing from his eyes

he asked if i had any change to spare

i gave him all the cash in my purse

he had just followed in the foot-steps of others

and fell from grace


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