INVESTIGATE
MOUNTAINS
THOROUGHLY
It takes nerve to rattle steel; transience again, like
the wind which passes these windows howling. One
with the fleeting moment - a singular motto - is
my watchword now. Tattoos in crimson and a gold
never seen. I make a serious mockery of both Life
and Death; walking past either with my head held high.
-
Once, last year, on Route 6 in Pennsylvania, driving
through some sad old farming town, in a coal-mining
area in a coal-mined terrain, nothing left but broken
hearts and steel, the stuff of candor and hurt, I saw an
old man - hunched and silent - slide past me at the
roadside stop. He had the longest silver hair I had ever
seen, and a beard like a mop as well. I thought to myself,
'There he is! He has investigated these mountains well!'
And then he moved on, unaware even of my shadow.
-
The tufted silence of humanity within, that is what we
each wear for a cloak - something knitted well, but
mis-stitched too. A razor-sharp error honed to perfection.
Different for us all, each within, singular and unknown.
Our mountains, our hills, and our heights. I knew what
I'd meant to say : 'Investigate mountains thoroughly.'
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