Saturday, December 1, 2012

An Ordinary Friday on the Train

The steel and the stone
Have agreed to be used
To abide our alignments
In the purgatory tram,
The fires that bend and purify.

They choose to serve us,
Like chicken spirits pick
The month-long stretch at the factory farm
(It’s an slog but the take-home pay is good),
But they stay so long here instead of going, say,
To the planet Christmas they came from.

As I honor this
The cabin
Fills with light
Of people’s auras never ending
Until the people themselves
Become nothing but color
(When hearts merge, bodies disappear),
And the world outside turns suddenly
Crystal and white.

The parallelograms
Tumble out like cards…
Lifetime after lifetime
We learn the consequences
Of behavior we don’t remember
 –To make repentance
For ourselves and for others harder,
But it is not repentance per se
That is required
But understanding how attaching
One’s energy in any way
To the role someone played for us
Is no different than thinking an actor is
The character he plays
After the show is over
(Not that we shouldn't still clap
For the performance).

The doodad goes skidding down the street,
No longer the last of the locust bells we all assumed,
The long and winding scrolls are blank again,
And the phantom limbs of the cat, finally coaxed,
Leap out the door.

1 comment:

Jack said...

The mention of auras made a nice preamble for the phantom limb finale.

That part about roles being played for us...I typically do not feel like clapping after someone's performance. I focus on the vainglorious affectations, though, and nothing else.

Seeing "doodad" in the poem was an inspiration.