The walk, so I’ve been told,
Was a long
And gloomy one much like
Our age, though
I have no citation
For this. I only have
To look at
The vast space of rock and
Dust to tell
Me where we get our need
To transcend
The tedious ties that
Bind tired lives.
I can imagine the walk.
I was told
He was expected to
Carry the
Wood. With few words shared,
He must have
Inquired as to what
Would be the
Final destination.
But with few
Words shared, imagine he
Could only
Gaze at the ass’s ass,
A clockwork
Trot of stagnant motion,
Sidling round,
Sure to make one seasick
On dry land.
It is mainly to this
That we dream
Of horses hooves meeting
Rigid rock
Journeying upward on
Skyward wing;
It is to this that we
Dream of land,
With succulent soils and
honeydew.
To understand this is
To know our
Need to shake off old dust
And bathe in
A clear pool of the minds
Oases
Of imagination.
The father
Of my dear friend took to
Talking to
Himself, a puppeteer
Guiding self-
Concealed strings. White bearded
And lined, he
Became a man for whom
Ravaged time
Demanded pacts of new
Agreements
And new contractual
Terms of life,
As creeping penury
Becomes the menacing
Despoiler of old men
Heartlessly
Taking man’s manhood. And
With nothing
Resembling a warning,
Threatens to
Add to obstinate dust.
But he had
His son. And so this
Walk was my
Friends chattering journey.
Imagine
Then his staggered surprise
When at once
Animal substitutes
Animal
And cattle’s blood becomes
Old chattel
As if sacrificial means
Craved anew,
Demanding more as the
Sate outgrew.
But more than this, try to
Feel the same
Breath-filled relief when the
Pointed thing
Was put away and no blood
spilt upon
The cratered rocky slab.
It must have
Felt as if everything
In the wide
World was contained in the
Pebble in
His shoe and with a bang
Burst forth
Towards what we all now know.
But what then?
When relief is loosed, what
lessons learned? It all seemed
like lavished
Waste. What silly sojourn
Compares to
What might have cost his wife
Two days milk?
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