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and All the Birds Into Metaphor
The
building crumbles
but do we need the building?
Let’s
step back.
Where is
the center?
A human
geology layered with civilizations and cultures,
grief and ecstasy,
the house you live
in—
in these days of
excess
what have we built?
At the edges of
the city,
dreams
go wandering.
Everything is
new,
nothing is new.
The
mechanisms of the day persist.
Our
friend tells us of coyotes
in broad daylight
parading
right down the
middle
of
on a telephone pole
in the alley.
If these
four lanes of traffic
outside my house in
the clear light
of a Sunday morning
in November
are lanes of a
river bending
cutting away its
banks
like I tell myself
when the noise
becomes maddening,
and I open the door
and go outside,
look at the river
and jump in,
float and let the
current take me
at what far banks
will I wash up to
shore?
After we
have turned all the mountains into ideas
and all the birds
into metaphor
will there be
something left of ourselves?
There’s snow in
and it’s seventy in the northeast.
Forget
symmetry—
the fluidity is the constant.
There
may only be a couple of subjects
at the roots, love
and loss
but that is only
human.
What is
left with all art is a feeling,
something in the
gut.
Days
bend
into geometry:
A Wednesday
morning becomes a rhombus;
by afternoon, it’s
a trapezoid,
and by evening no
parallel sides remain.
The
language of paradigm shifts
becomes tiring—
(although it’s true not long ago
the earth was flat)
When the
world repeats
we are faced with
the same scenarios
but each present
more catastrophic because the present is ours.
Alignments
of random points:
larger area + more
points = better probability
After we
have turned all the mountains into ideas
and all the birds
into metaphor
will there be an
echo to follow back?
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Artist Website : Eric Magrane Terrain.org Page : Terrain.org Poetry : Terrain.org Home
All text and images are copyright © by Eric Magrane.