9053. FAINT CUPPED HANDS

FAINT CUPPED HANDS

I am tired now, and really

shouldn't be here at all. By

this time last night I'd have

sworn I'd be back on 18th 

street, throwing down some 

paint, or dancing with an 

artful dodger. But the best

laid plans of mice and men  -  

as Darwin said  - somehow 

grow wings to fly. Evolution

or revolution, it's all the

same on high. Here's a lick

and promise, you'll be back.

-

I'd gladly have faint cupped 

hands if you'd promise not 

to throw them away. They're

good enough for holding

things, even monkey-like, 

and stopping things from 

falling. That one, I know, 

Evolution  -  all that 

ape-shit patter.

-

I once saw people crossing 

the canal  -   ever so gently 

they were walking on rocks;

no, not water, just rocks. It 

was enough for me, and it

may have been Revolution.

Well, perhaps. Any monkey's

got oppossable thumbs, but 

what simian do you know

that has ever stopped the 

tides? Or split the sea?

And walked on that 

water too?

-

It takes lots more

than intention to do

what you intend to do.

You need the means; and

you need the bounty too.

So, here's to a Heaven and

here's to a Hell. Either one

we're collecting for, and

both are doing well.