pondering the beauty in life is not enough to feed my spirit. Those times the dark side keeps me sane. This poem is about seeing clearly what is before me, not just rosy hopes. As Richard Bach wrote in his book Illusions, “Perspective. Use it or lose it.” The truth is often not pleasant when looked at closely.
Lost in the crowd of mumbling voices
I barely know what to say, at least out loud.
They all were telling me it was Katy,
“Katy did it, Katy did, Katy…” Katy did what?
I hear what lies beyond those jumbled thoughts.
I know what lies there, beyond the the greasy fields,
beyond the river toward the concrete harnesses,
the asphalt pits and manifold exhaust.
The marks of the tribe are everywhere.
Even the grass can scarsely grow
before it is hacked to look neat and low.
So what if Katy did it, does anyone know?
The glare from the street lights is not from heaven,
though heavenly gas burns within, fed by dancing gnomes.
Traffic roars by in the distance, inevitable, just out of reach
of sleep. Discarded toys of progress choke the blood of brethren kin.
But, Katy did. Katy did it. Katy did it. When?
The seeds of clarity must be there, but not in my breath
gasping beyond the crickets’ pearly sprays of blacks and grays.
A steetlamp’s false light blinks at death
hovering near. It gasps as the darkness
molds itself around the warmth of our day.
The razor’s edge must still be sharp
but it seems hard to know where it begins
amid the din of mountains freezing
before the light of this god’s icy artifice.
These streets do not lead to heaven.
The light there is not golden.
Katy knows it.