I scrawl my naked gods upon the page.

Now I own salvation and revel,

Revel in this new, mad poetic freedom.

Liberty in one tense transfigures,

Becomes slavery in another phase.

I must carve out my Nazca dreams

And believe that I am saved,

That I have saved another soul.

Still, the ley lines speak to me

In verses of damnation and struggle.

So I keep scrawling. Poetry is a pearly gate.

Then I become the vanguard of paradise.

Bobby Riahi