A Ghost Leads Him
this elder he
touches but does not,
this psychopomp
who exists but no,
flies through his memory,
its refugees,
till they incandesce
and then collapse.
the past now
a possessed accordion,
playing a song never composed.
this daredevil in his arched veins,
it streaks to push the rollercoaster
to higher fervor and flight.
(this EKG wave, this oscilloscope ...)
as if mental extremes
are prisoners of a dull conformity.
and only by freeing them
can the jail crumble into blameworthy bricks.
(so much of his life was spent between bricks...)
bricks, cubes, gravestones,
he buried so much of himself long ago.
but now
(but now ...)
the ghost offers a tortuous path:
fresh rubble, new steppingstones,
back upward,
toward some wounded yet dependable
joy.
===================
No comments:
Post a Comment