Archive for January 11th, 2011
Trophies for Dead Spirit
The late afternoon winter sun stabs, punctures,
Puzzling the tricky, dainty gleam of workers’ cars.
These shanked conveyances are trophies
For those who slave away in plastic caves.
Glistening ice of black pavement beckons,
Salute, crawl and grind your sloppy bones.
Feel the piercing salt as you slither from your
Museum of stumped, immovable, gray misery.
I am submitting this for One Shot Wednesday, which is so popular with folks doing the head start, it might be called One Shot Tuesday Night. Please check out the fine collection there!
The wing slices ninety degrees toward the water.
Sirens and great fear create electrical, spasmodic chaos.
Staying above the river, seeing each bubble of detail,
Pilot carves and furiously brings the plane level
In time to prevent melt-down with an old concrete bridge.
Today, the exact same feel, a gust of life with the look in the mirror.
Today, life might be a go, with brain suddenly light,
Doubt is ensconced. Search for work clothes begins.
Pilot loses the plane again, twisting,
Plunges into too-shallow icy water.
No survival this time.
That is the truth,
feeding on millions of replays.
But occasionally, there is an interruption, a tiny bubble,
A sprinkle of the stillness and weightless shivering of total joy.