The hyena
in the spaceman's
spacesuit
returned
to the
home of the grave.
He received his weight
in flashbulb praise,
sold his spaceman's suit,
apologized
and
went back down
into the rain water well.
Down there
on black moss pillow
his breath leaves
faint footsteps
in the stale
cold air.
Dreams pass
above,
incomplete
and
incomprehensible.
The world is
reduced
to a circle
that sways
the light and dark.
The hyena exhales
every orbit
of his heat shielded
journey
from a clenched fist
lanuch pad
through warm acceleration
embraced by weightless
desires
to the ache of awareness.
Imobile and framed in
thick familiarity
the hyena shudders.
The puppet show humanity
he affected
burned up on re-entry.
Down in the well
with every scar
baby cheek fresh
and
grapefruit rubied
he will exhale,
attending to his
certain decomposition.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
"Challenger, go at throttle up"
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3 comments:
like your words there mr, you and mr k are the only blooges i've found thus far that have readable (as opposed to excrebable) non-prose. that title (in the form of the actual recording) is used in a song about challenger by an australian band called ratcat. always used to give me the willies.
oh no....if the delighful miss AM reads this she will think i think her log is excrebable. i will have alienated exactly one half of my entire 'blog friend' population. AM, i think your blog is lovely and particularly appreciate the tibet thingy (you may have seen the link on mine to one of many aspects of chinese society that would render them totally impossible as a choice for the umlympics if the world was just - so we share a view there). the only reason i didn't think to mention yours is that you never update it (although i must say i do take a little look at that animated gif every now and again). please still be my blog friend, huh. see how neurotic us english can be, is it charming or just a bit irritating....hard to tell sometimes
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