Skeleton Key
Sitting like a Buddha
And rhyming rats to death
Saturday is quite the book
With pages opening a vein
To the raison d'être of all
The people I am
Thousands of words 
Bleeding as one and
Sitting like a wounded savior.

The Maiden's hysteria 
Was not in the womb
It was not even
According to the Greeks
It was just vanity fair
To be a pub scarecrow
And also a bird of prey
Said the Rook to the Vulture
Sitting like a jeweled Bedouin
And somewhere in the woodlands
The Master wrote in thin air
The bow, the barrel, and the bit
Will unlock the unknown
Secrets to the Universe
But not the grave 
For it belongs to the Vulture,
A quill pen, the day after
And a crowded sitting room.
© Jobé 2022