September 13, 2018

A bet about how acrobats practice

With out the bright side of a doubt

Would bring winnings, not giving a thought

To those monkeys unable to practice

Symmetry, nor knowing  sincerely knowing

How’s the flow going

Then there’s daring  dark  chance

Annexing the knack for balance.




“What kinda trapeze thing is going on back there?”

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery – always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What’s this passion for?
                                                              -Virginia Woolf

As the bars spill us out onto the street

and the new snow invites us to play less discretely;

some grinding, and many of us finding

We want to make angels.

Actually, it’s something else.

The only sin is when we were away from the Symmetry,

only our warm skin sinks away from the top beauty

melts us down through to the ground, just off.


As the churches discharge us out into the street

and the noon sun insists us to work more discretely,

Unwinding some, and most of us finding

We want to make do.

Particularly, make something of this paradigm.

Outside, in-spite of sunlight on spiritual heights..In Spires

just sparrows float, their flight just right, required.

We’ll make do on the ground, just off.




.published previously, way back