, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,




                                   the edges of my reach

                                   what is the meaning
                                   of the huge building
                                   so big miles away
                                   that it seems so close
                                   and only thirty floors
                                   high across the street

                                   that when I realise
                                   its distance I cannot
                                   look up I cannot look up

                                   when young I couldn’t
                                   look up I just stood at
                                   the foot of the building
                                   the moving sky would
                                   make it fall would make
                                   everything fall if I looked –
                                   terrible responsibility

                                   when I was older I found
                                   my way onto ledges half-
                                   way up I’ll have to step I’ll
                                   have to step the abyss down
                                   as the chasm is up when
                                   down I have got nowhere

                                   then I climbed the grassy
                                   hills bold enough to clump
                                   the holds and maybe bound
                                   to find the incline become
                                   vertical I cannot continue
                                   I have to hold tight tight
                                   to the ground will the grass
                                   hold me

                                   once I found I could fly –
                                   held my hands together
                                   and directed – but found
                                   myself in the top branches
                                   of the tree which couldn’t
                                   hold my weight

                                   and then I wake up and act
                                   when probably
                                   I should wake up and sit


sequel to I glimpse above the rooftops




branches wormhole: tag cloud poem III – the journey to BEING and back again
buildings & dream & life wormhole: I glimpse above the rooftops
childhood wormhole: the sounds the difficulty and the long long strands of liquorice
doing wormhole: Do Nothing Usually / Take Everything Regularly / Consider It All Clearly / And Step Aside It Waltzingly
hills wormhole: King of the World
sitting & sky wormhole: 25% scaffolding & rope
streets wormhole: practising
trees wormhole: rhetorical inevitability inexorable in both immanent dissipation & implicit effulgence