what an audacious title!
she squealed, condignly

to speak of the soul, and more,
to enter the holy land
of priests, poets, seers,
and carnies

to discover the synovial moan
between one's craggy crafted countenance
and the invisible breath of god  
to find a place, backwards in time
that may lend itself to rhythm and rhyme
but will never settle silently on the page  

between the soul and the façade,
the mud in which we are stuck,  
a bonded place, in a travesty of space  
where a voice cries for help  
yet is never heard