4.5.09

Parachute not landing (29.12.06)

Parachute not landing


I attached myself to the maypole

That I may fit, go around

Spiralled with perfect ribbon

Glowing the sun gone to ground.


And I sought a daisy picking meadow

Tittering voices, distant praise,

A place unchartered and beginning,

At the end, destined by beginning.


In the motor car lost on the highway

Alone, yet surrounded, all the same

Cruising, straight-line, one direction

Junctions simply serve the insane,


The ribbons somehow knotted in the middle

Footsteps forced to stumble, trip and fall

Motors cease, burn and stall

And gazing up, seated here, spring time

Snow falls on the fingers, biting frost

A river merges, land to liquid

Shaky is the post up ahead


And not so much a case of undo this

As a plea now to be untied

Tried and tested are the ways once accepted,

No longer viable, no more to abide,


For the forces are dragging all the pieces

The sense is now senseless, making sense

And the reds, greens, white, blue and purple

Merge, I cannot see anymore.


The maypole sinking, fast, can’t offer

Ritual, security, ritual, or song

All that defined once this moment

All is somehow gone so wrong


Taking the razor of self-pity

That once was a toy, a cry for help

I have little choice but to sever

The binding, tearing wrists, so I tear

And the maypole disappears, it is traceless

The former without proof and gone

Apart from the fragment on my arm, a tether,


I scramble, I scratch at mud banks

I surface on land as yet unknown

With only a bracelet of former glories

A horizon breathing deep, drawing me in,


Any vision of a time set in stone

Shattered, hung out, left alone,

This is the new dance, emerging, fast

This is the way, wind blown, first consuming gasp

My sail filled, 

        parachute, not landing

Falling, stable, known, alone, 

still standing.

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