Poetry

The Fall, 13 (257.)

High concept,
high fashion,
high altitude,
it’s all about highness,
and not like “your highness.”

Hi.
What dizzying splendor
these tasks amount to,
their heights tantamount
to the pillar of the gods!
Olympus, Parnassus,
is one as real as the other,
at least in the mythological mind?

Unwind, these times call
for a looseness of spirit.
Legs stretched out, a drink in one hand,
a book or a controller in the other.
Fun is now your mother.
Feel her embrace, and rejoice
at her total lack of seriousness.

Joke’s on all of them,
those who cling to the moribund
sprigs in the grass,
how crass to admit
that autumn approaches fast
and shall, in its sure usurpation,
remove all verdant vestments
from the body of the earth.

Vestigial, now.
Unreal and unbowed.
The leaves fall away
and the trees stand, unadorned
and excited.
Dance with them, and summon
the snows

all in due time.

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