Perhaps I could write this to say that the disappearance was what mattered.
We were one, once, and all of a sudden we shattered into
an incomprehensible seafaring debris field.
This planet was nearly just an ocean.
Thar—a floating arm, a floating leg, a floating head—behold—that is us!
Thar we blow! Quickly!
Look at us. We had only time
to be mortified, jettisoned, and—if we were lucky—
forgiven.
How sad, but spirited,
and although spiraling like fiery meteors all the same
we became the otherworldly cumulonimbus
from which we came
(and were cushioned): truly, extraordinaire.
However:
It was the sudden outcome that proved to be
most vexing.
Indeed, here we are, but no matter!
In fact, I remember being dead and drowning
and wondering all the while
how I could and could not be both.
And how to explain what eventually went wrong
underwater? ...
6 June 2009
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See http://www.weathergraphics.com/tim/af447
1 comment:
Am I allowed to call this narrative poetry? I think it's the closest you've come to that. Though the narrative might be of a very twisted fever dream--nay!--a series of them. But something Moby Dickish, MJ. Que conste. Adelante.
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