A Centripetal Force

If music isn’t life

then life isn’t a play

And there on opening night

How does it begin

A play of words?

As curtain ascends

A character on stage

Brings music to a halt

Treading words in a line

The troop carries on

til half-way at intermission

I notice others in my row

no one I know

Poems on Pisgah

On Pisgah mountain

forest thicket

chestnut picket

yield eventually

to sawyers charge

men on mountain

muddy sacred fountains

for consumer vanity

and demand

But maybe maple

for the table

is not the only choice

we have

Dressed in their hospital best

Splayed on his back

the examination continuing

not much dignity

being a living corpse.

He wonders how

they overcame innate revulsion

to the writhing mass

of pus and purulent sores.

The moment takes his

last measure of humanity

as he tries to cover

his privates publicly.

Without bodily care

A man must feel

strong and sound

His body must

he be able to trust

or his spirit will leave

before he lies down

It’s a lost joy

the sheer existence

of strength untapped

of speed uncapped

it’s age relentless

always insistent

That he should give out

before the days labor

before the sun extinguish

his resolve relinquish

and become infirm

in time to favor

Maisi

It was the perfect crime

I had planned

and worked

and spent my time

Bypassing

all the security

screens

Bouncing my trace

across the web

and around the world

They couldn’t

have known

which way I came

which way I had gone