meum alium corpus
i.
terra
to be, but for a moment,
a sparrow above the maelstrom;
one resplendent featherlight ray of faltering promise
to refute Armageddon;
to witness creation and destruction dancing;
to catch, aloft
the aching fulgent fortissimo of this teeming, besotted rondure;
to savor the merest morsel of Gaia’s grand score –
this would suffice!
refrain;
strain;
musical terms both –
by whose flawed design did they come to apply
to something so quintessentially free?
earthbound, i feign animus
drawing sluggish sausages across insouciant strings
perchance to seduce the sparrow?
‘…that strain again;
it had a dying fall…’
strain, indeed –
let it die,
let it fall,
but do refrain.
no Segovia, i.
ii.
aer
a fritillary
floating beyond the reach of
earth’s ponderous pavane
flitting effortlessly above the gyre;
no need of voice
when every flutter is Art!
exponentially ignorant,
i, wailing Icarus,
disseminate a tremulous tenor
in the papillon’s wake
a meager, miscreant mimic
keening senselessly,
keenly oblivious to my own arrogance-
‘..a wandering minstrel, i…’
wander, then.
iii.
ignis
a hurdy gurdy, it seems
or perhaps call–and-response calliopes
would sooner flank sweet Heaven
than my fawning, masturbatory lays-
how, then, to vault
the confine
of my menial muse?
verily, i burn
for want of one requited utterance!
an echo without origination
languishing in lieu of purpose
i bounce infinitely
reaffirming my own creative redundancy
with each reverberation
in desperation now, i dance –
(that which has no voice cannot offend God’s ear)
whirling
swirling
twirling
i am Baryshnikov, at the very least -
‘dance, dance, wherever you may be…’
until the thundering pulse of my leaden footfalls
betrays my winged spirit –
gravity is in effect today.
iv.
undae
if i left this minute;
circumnavigated the globe -
i could watch my tears go down the drain
clockwise in one hemisphere
counterclockwise in the other
who cares which way or where
it would just be so damned dramatic
Coriolis performance art!
‘if you look closer, it’s easy to trace
the tracks of m-’
just to be sure
i google my tears
virtually test my hypothesis
only to learn
they diffuse
according to their own peevish whims
regardless
of longitude.
well, shit.
v.
spiritus
dentist’s office;
new-age acoustic anesthesia
wafts with Bose brilliance
bringing blessed numbness
beneath it all
inexplicable one-ness
imperceptible, nearly,
but…there… there.
i shuffle back through eons of genetic memory
through the ominous groaning of an impending root canal
past the pain
past the pathos
past caring
burying all consciousness in pursuit of the divine mystery
beneath the pan-pipes
beneath the waves
beneath the elemental thrum -
whale song.
my song, too.
earth; air; fire; water –
one.
i know, now.
i strum
i sing
i dance
i cry
all at once -
and in this
(only in this)
my life-poem
i am a child again.
in this
my one true song
borne on spirit wings;
trembling -
i touch
the sun…
Rich Follett has recently returned to writing poetry after a thirty-year hiatus. He lives in the sacred and timeless Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where he joyfully
teaches English and Theatre Arts for high school students.
