ARRIVAL

by Stefanie Bennett


They are wary. A nobody’s in transit
Scantily clad, but his biceps
Bulge and tweak of royal favour.

Risen from mortal metaphor,
He crosses the boulevard
That isn’t there
… Sips permafrost through a glass straw.

The bleak foothills fracture parallel
After-shocks -, and mastic cloud
Hails linchpins.

Only when he unfolds his swag
To lie down with the lamb
Will the town-crier quietly assert:
‘This one’s Zarathustra’.

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