3084. I NEVER FELL FOR DAMASCUS

I NEVER FELL
FOR DAMASCUS

(my new doggerel)
I never tumbled from my horse, I never slid
down the hill, I remained always intact. My
dream was a surrender of sorts : bowing to
the oasis, drinking from the secret spring,
knowing where the stories were kept. Like
it was, always in abeyance. I mined the
underbrush for something to say.
-
'Are you powerless yet?' That was the man's
one question I was unable to answer. I'd been
to the pond, I'd been to the island, I'd carried
myself, on stilts, into even the museum. Yet,
I'd never looked him in the eye. Verily.
They said his name was Pablo. I was
ready to agree.
-
I can't even walk down the street, or I
find it hard to do, anyway. Without you?
Partially, perhaps - but that's not the
entire reason. I never learned the ease
and grace that a rich man has - 'I'll see
you in Paris, in July. I'll be there for
the month. I'll be in London on June 21.
Will you be there then too?' Old science
would speculate about the stars. Now,
we've even given all that up. A clarity
such as that is nothing more than crap.
-
I look forward to remaining. I missed
the Damascus trap - Paul thrown from
his ass, any and all of that. I never
started a church of my own, never
really even had a place to call home.
Two policemen I see, standing on the
corner. They radio in; something
about suspicion, something about
doubt - there was much more to it
I'm sure I'm leaving things out.
'Are you powerless yet?' I was
ready to agree...