Last Volcano
The time has come to move
more mountains all the way
from the water to the wine.
Today I make up my own mind
games and steel my drum to make
my own way home back home to you.
Laid as low as the gallant
challenger felled by the telling
of the blows
the false prophets and the fallen
priests are sticking to
their flypaper.
Lining fires grime punished
like deep rhymed pumice
vulcan open me underground.
Lava lover flows are all eruptured
with the lustre of numerous
illustrious luminaries
so now at the last hour
mountains
move.
