Street Preacher

And he preaches
till days turned to giants.
Till his blood ran into a slow crawl.
His joints have turned to white dust.
His steps have worn his shoes up to his knees.

And his palms trembled him.

His day is tall now.

And his voice is croaked.
And his lips quiver and tremble.
And his heart, feeble and thirsty
And his formerly white handkerchief, non-white.

He has lost the strength in his hip.
But only in his hip.

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