Wednesday, April 27, 2011

lowliness and other disregarded heights

A Crawl Space for an Attic

Behind me drags my leg, ahead my mind

Gazelles—presenting problems: stairs,

Cobblestone, pristine golf-course greens in spikes.

I’m adolescent—all thrust and no thought,

Careering limbs. A basement’s what I need.

A place to walk without descent,

Provided I do not come up for air,

For light of day. Down-dwelling, in the must,

Book after book: natural selection

And other disregarded novels, one

About backyard songbirds, a hundred more

Concerning governesses. A T.V.

For zombie films and sit-coms without laugh-tracks.

Provide your own applause, I’ll say, if you

Come visit me. Come for my sundry wisdoms,

Come for my television. Stay the night.

A basement’s what I need and a crawl-space

For an attic. For my things. My boxes

Of books and boxes of dust. Hands and knees,

Courageous through the spider webs,

A flashlight in my teeth. One leg will lag

But you can’t fall from a crawl, not so far

To break a bone or hard enough to crush

Your guts. In fact, it’s the perfect distance

To fall. To gather new wisdoms from worms

And roaches: lowliness and other dis-

Regarded heights. During that night, the one

You’ll stay to watch T. V., I’ll usher you

Through dark, dank, catacombs of rusted tools,

Decapitated dolls, and unused paint.

Just follow me, I’ll say, Follow my scoot

And drag. Do like me, I’ll say—

Kneel, scoot, drag.

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