Second by second
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Day by day
Mile after mile
Is one ‘stride’ of
That Giant in-the-sky…
The spirit most resmbles a stomach.
Its intent is always the assimilation of new experience,
according to its digestive capacity.
The free spirit,
that discarder of cloaks and masks,
is endowed with brutal honesty.
To return man back to nature,
to confront man with man
as man confronts the rest of nature,
with dauntless eyes
and ears deaf to the piped strains
of ‘better’ and ‘more’ and ‘above’…
That is the task!
The hour grows late.
The shadows lengthen.
As ever that supernatural fear
of the savage holds sway.
It calls us to the compound to watch it prowl.
We see it reflected in our eyes.
All we designate high culture comes from that gleam.
We glorify it and call it God.
Yet, still fearful, we seek to swipe it from the face of the earth.
Without that glint what remains to serve up for our delectation?