He developed his own mythology
it was stronger than anthropology
when shot in the shoulder with an arrow
he swallowed its pride and died.

Happenings never really happen one at a time
they crawl on all fours until they hit the wall.

Long before that he was a child
fits were thrown, milk was spilled
the severity of his misbehavior escalated
until he was educated and graduated.

Things written down on a map have no up
no down only hints that must be unfolded.

His best efforts were pandemonium
his innovations were non-Newtonian
the sun rose and set on the waking up
this fakir demanded of all his disciples.

What is reached if not goals and agreements?
What if not freedom is given to the slave?

At the height of the arc of the history
of the symphony accompanying his disaster
a phrase was turned and lifted off the paper
escaping the gravity of his previous promises.

If the word had not violated its own syntax
no one would have heard what came next.

Transference changed hands in two instants
there was not enough time for impatience
insufficient air in the room for death to be begged for
the sentence too long to finish without a breath.

The unsaid only comes into view at the ends
of those agreements which separate friends.

Did you think the sealed records sealed anything?
You should have anticipated his sudden storminess.
The gathering of the enemies with followers
spoke beyond speaking to all of us.

We developed our own mythology
it was stronger than anthropology
when generality was poisoned with an event
our abstractions were swallowed and spent.


About mrsorenson

NOT my president
This entry was posted in poem, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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