BEING TRANSFORMATIONAL
My hands are like claws, now dead
to the world - feel nothing twice,
pinch nothing once. Like a toreador
with a tired cape, I'm standing, but
listless and reserved.
-
I like being transformational, twisting
things up, churning the surface. Here,
where they repave the road, all traffic
stays stopped to let nothing happen.
-
A lamplight, dusky yellow, shows
the trace of a paver, followed by the
glum face of a man atop his own
yellow steamroller, pressing things
down. What's this all about? I wonder,
probably not really wanting to know.
-
I'd rather the jumble, the mysterious
noise, like a trance of a shadow in the
dead of a night. Being transformational
is better than that plodding order so
easily seen by my eyes. They have
their work to do, these busy men in
their own oases. Never transforming
a thing but the road. Such a quite
heavy load for one man to carry.
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