28 October 2009

95 ǀ reconnaissance

Let us remember by flight
that we were never designed to fly.

Let us suppose—golden once, then dropped,
starry-eyed and spiraling—that we landed
on the corner of proxy and spin.

At some point during the heralded age of enmity and beyond,
we began to utter our first word.
We were terrified at first,
and we said so.

We said pen and reckoned—
would you not know it?—
we would say it again.

We said paper for the sake of saying something else.

To be sure, all of it was random,
but it was full steam ahead nonetheless,
and section by section
the whole thing fell apart
before us.

We said some other things too, later, ha,
just for kicks—

like whispering was for bursting secrets,
capital for opportunistic trogs.

We even ghoulishly believed in those days
that the wind and flames were equally proportionate
to the classless whims
of our rulers, principles, and aims.

Yes, god,
we believed in anything.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

That's my problem. I didn't check in on YOUR blog. You are alive. Alive! Even if you have a weird snake head in cyberspace, moodles.