 My Poem about Italy
Cathedrals
Peering through the cracks of the fence
The ill favoured apprentice
Cranks his eye to see that which
Seperates him from the mysteries of the masons
That pass their secrets to their children
and their children's children
To found towns and cities
Dwarfed by the building, the servant of God
Edits his words with bent back.
With thin fingers and leather hard stomach
And empty scrotum resting on the hard bench
A stuttering candle pounces it's shadow
on the parchement
of pronouncements
to be justly considered by dextrous minds.
With a guide who speaks four languages
Endlish being thankufully one.
WE cross the floor And place our feet
upon the very spot where an emperor once stood
While our Guide drones on
WE dart to a bancarella to purchase
a souveneir bottle opener.
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