Swagazine #4

Obey by Bryant Stith

The tombstone, the granite slab
inscribed with wisdom and bold memories
drifts like another skin against my hands,
sorrowful water pounding it into clay,
softening wider, flowingly soft,
mud slipping against my nails,
mashed potatoes starving
in my wrinkling palm.
The Great One, limp as grass,
mowed short as a crew-cut,
smooth against the razor
slashing
hot and bright --
the elusive slick metal
slipping away,
the Powerless Mortal
growing cold and bent
and unattached.