Poems October 2012
Winged words
The downside to rising like this:
How the emphasis shifts from your legs.
They cycle the air at the outset,
then slacken, and finally trail
the torso’s relentless flexing.
Disuse for a month or two withers
them into mosquito whiskers,
and then, when it’s time to descend to
your fellow men and walk beside them,
you land and buckle in a grand
absurd kerfluffle, the satin tent
of wings collapsing over you,
real earth in the mouth
where ethereal used to whisper.
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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 31 Number 2, on page 30
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