I’d like to be old and whittled smooth,
gentleness itself
I’d like to be old and whittled smooth,
gentleness itself
Which was dragging things
out to the bitter last moment,
watching possibilities fly
like cocks crowing
unhinged, remembering
Nietzsche said, The deed
is everything, and that
was in ’92 when I was
going to meet him in the ring
that very day!
This finally would be the year
of game-winners and accolades.
And so I rose early to prepare,
pounded down the dark road
before the long day of work and school,
hating the road,
hating the fear and weakness within.
You know is not there?
Yank that vine
and get at the root.
And when you’re done,
dig deeper still.
For roots have their own
invisible roots.
That relentless scramble for higher ground.