Anyway, got another poem done yesterday ... this seemed like a real good one while I was writing it, but I guess the imagry never quite made it from my head to the page as well as I thought it did at the time. Oh well. More, of course, off at the archive at http://i.am/btripp ...
CUSPS OF CHANGE
too damned much gravity
all our structures collapse
sweeping down in chaos
for which we're unprepared;
we step through worlds
so like our own
but we are alien,
exile, anathema here
uncharted chasms open
discrediting the map,
we must now steer
by unfamiliar stars,
knowing no landmarks,
stripped of frame;
we're exposed to harsh winds
and the killing day
we follow far voices,
cognizant of threats
hidden in the words,
we answer to their compass
in treks through emptiness
seeking only stasis,
some baseline to this state
on which we could then build
we are so damaged, though,
that every act drips fear
that more abuses wait
at every opted turn;
we can not believe
that anything of that world
will function to our bettering,
so much are we destroyed
this is the very cusp of change,
the edge of the abyss,
we stare into its depths
swirling with vertigo,
drunk with terrors undefined;
nothing here is safe,
nothing here is sure,
as we plummet into dark
- Brendan Tripp
02/26/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp