POME

 
The Gym On Top Of The World

From here we see the great gamut of human life;
Wolf men and flower-wrights,
Coffee kids and purple hearts.
The cypress tree tilting in the doorway at lapse of day.

Legging away on this up and down thing,
I see maps stretch to the horizon,
Yellow records of everything our fathers felt,
Barques blown mad on the crust of the ocean.

Stars twitter. Night-swallows gleam.
I come back to the start on rubber tracks.
Now and then the iron clasps lift, we gasp
At undercurrents in the pockmarked air.

Cities are all I ever hoped for.
In the past I would dream of this platform,
As the soldier dreams of a notional child.  
My feet flail around on golden instruments.

But even the ancient tapestries faltered at this stage.
Here on this summit I see the sun strive,
The ground snaps to the thud of blistered feet;
The ocean whispers something about not trying so hard.

Steam percolates. Precision beats out the pace.
Sweat gathers in pools and we revel in weariness.
Ogres climb up the walls and beat at the door.
Friends of God, please will you help us?

So now you can see why I brought you here.
Fog is obscuring the Grecian columns in the distance.
Saxophones riff lazily, and wine soaks the cypress.
Let’s agree. We can do infinitely better than this.

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