Isthmus Incident [poem]
If freeze can melt we’d grasp that
every little gesture that we make;
all the frantic measures that we take;
everything we do no matter how much
it may seem to be spontaneous, impulsive
or haphazardly impromptu has been carefully
designed with just one crucial phrenzied frantic
crazed and desperately gigantic fazing theme in mind
Every time we dress or fluently determine to impress
some other out there human in our field of view
or otherwise ignore someone we judge to be
an utter bore or smoke some stuff or drink
more than enough or waste some time
on celluloidal fantasies then digitise
online we are simply covering up
one outsized grossly elephantine
intrusion in the room that’s dogged
us from the moment we were born (by
which I mean the startling instant when we
grudgingly or wilfully became a conscious me
a separate subtle entity apparently forsaken and
forlorn) or should I say impertinently torn—not only
from the warm wet womb but even from that vastly
darklight unknown inexpressful space where we
1ce were when we weren’t we & now though
we imagine that we’re free in truth we are
enslaved by just one single fazing thing
which I presented in that line above
to wit that we are herefully alone
impostors on a dream enthroned
meandering our wiseless way across
the cosmic interplay of one intruder of
the airwaves to another while we foolfully
and ignorantly shovel heaps of decomposing
detritus to thwart the crippling solitude endured
by all the pinpoint parts of separated consciousness
which individuatedly play hard and compensatingly
caress the countless shards of beingness arrayed
through time and history—a tale of lifesome
tragedy unless one cares to look between
the pages of the book entitled “Melody
Behind All Things” where every type
of mission and adventure will be
thrillingly displayed….eventually
© 2012, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 