so goes the poem, below me ...

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

~Walt Whitman

some of us
are transmitters
some receivers
some are even both

at first, we thought the sky was falling
but we soon realized uncle jebediah
had switched out wood alcohol
for the hooch we stored
behind the old washers
we never thought 
to get rid of
in our broke down palace 
of a garage 

does blindness from seeking praise
indeed raise the spectre
of malcontented self inspection
is the soul
merely an erection
of articulate bones
by any other word
life distilled stiff

what if
it was all about the blood
the trailing desire, shadows
leave behind
the ache and glow
in wanting to know
a life in the light

though eyes spy
the silent seas
of no can do
nose knows us too
so what say you didgeridoo
does the wind carry us all
from fancy flight
to where we fall
like starlight
when we are waning
are we want to stay
as dawn arrives
what are the words
murmuring thrive
when following us
as we fight for permanence
knowing only death survives
a lonely song 
and poem 
tonight 


EJR ©