WALKING THE SANDS
In the nondescript alleys of this old life, there are
paths leading to oceans - and others leading to
dead-end places and lands of the doomed.
Every high-roller in chimney-town has been
there. They all know the name and they
know what it's like.
-
I've got no footsteps to follow, since there's
nothing ahead and little behind. I'll walk sideways,
as needed, just to get through the tight spots.
-
Look at the needle on that meter-man's gauge.
What's he reading, exactly : I wonder. The temperature
of this Earth knows its bounds, or we hope, and my
forehead stays about the same. The light has no heat,
but the Summer heat is heavy. Can any of this measure
be taken? Like reading Shakespeare in a cold, dark
theater; why bother? Just wait 'til they start reading the lines.
-
Here, let me fixate on something else, for this all
must get tiresome after a while. Dear reader, I have
guile, though I am guileless; I am a chicken with fear,
though I have a fearless heart but what meter will tell?
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