The world is on fire this week, I don’t have a pithy bone in my body right now, and I have to go in to work this afternoon. There is not much else going on in my life right now other than the same struggles that I can’t go into a lot of detail about on a public forum. But they are heavy, my friends, oh so heavy, as so many of our struggles are now these days.
So in lieu of a regular post, here is the latest draft of a poem from the “new series” that is coming along tremendously slowly due to my chronic mental and physical distractions. But at least it’s something. I hope you enjoy it.
Still Life with Rowing Machine
This labor is simple: Pull.
Your back is a pinion of flames. Pull
Through the strain of this toil. Pull.
The waters are heaving. Pull.
You will rise on this swell. Pull
In your staggering grief. Pull
In this fevered forgetting. Pull
With the will of the holy. Pull
For this scaffold of sinew. Pull
With your castle of bone. Pull
In this red benediction. Pull
With the bearing of kings. Pull
In this soundful beginning. Pull
Serene and remorseless. Pull
Towards the root of your strength.