Monday, December 29, 2008
A Winged Creature Perched on the Suspension Bridge
Got lucky today and fished this out.
Some people ask me where it is,
And I say, "You're there." Throw back a little fake koan.
Detachment provokes a slim selection of reactions:
Frustration, mostly; some are spurred
To try to get through it, breaking or slipping;
Last are the ones who smile and settle, satisfied.
But to you and you alone I'll tell the real story:
It's an easy road, well maintained, laid down
By some appropriation long ago paid off,
Metamorphosed into favors shaping a future
That will never quite balance out fairly.
Not the way that veers into the barrens,
Where the branches block the sun and the taproots
Suck at spilled blood, nor the one that crumbles
Into the shifting slate the surf becomes in midwinter
Churning over bones the fish nibble clean.
It's the turn for the ones who choose not to try
For the last chance. Penultimate.
The place for the ones who don't go there.
Photo: A construction of the Jersey Devil, an uncharacteristic image from some ad-ridden website full of bad jokes and old stories and photos of the kind that circulated on emails of years gone by. I would credit its creator, but that remains as mysterious as the rest of it.