I wrote an original version of this piece back in 2001. It was accepted and published by the inimitable Crack the Spine in early 2017. (Click here to read this and other compelling work on the Crack the Spine site.)
Blizzards of trivia.
“Beyond all this,” the founder says,
“We are all voodoo,
For our moments,
With nonchalance only
Grace can manufacture.”
Beneath all this, the beats abound
And sound the bounds of our fortune.
Mark a pomp-filled circumstance,
The stale, ashy scent braiding itself
Around swelling rhododendron buds,
Taking hold like roots, the dirt, our pleasure.
Beyond all this,
Alas, a missed call:
A bird’s beautiful ascending
Tickling its surrounding air with its curves.
Beyond all this…
Anthems to an assuredness
That nurtures itself
The way locomotives don’t dare stop
For a cow caught in their tracks.
May we at least chronicle
But some of the passing countryside
And the crickets,
And the cracking racket of the moving machine,
Steam stuffing the conduits,
Blacking the sky and the grass,
The boring through mountains.
I sometimes mistake the throbbing Earth’s heart
For a friend ascending the stairs,
Awaiting the welcomed knock.
Our lives and our works,
Like variations speaking to themselves
In raspy discussion around martini glasses
Held by hands amber from candlelight, or;
As gleanings compiled of their own force,
Like smoke or scents braided through verdure;
Works, picked like flowers
From a boundless greenhouse
Not made by man’s hands;
Works, an airy passage to the skies
Becoming an ever-denser column,
And then, fluted by the most artful digits.