All day I have been closed up
inside rooms, speaking of trivial
matters. Now at last I have come out
into the night, myself a center
of darkness.
Beneath the clouds the low sky glows
with scattered light. I can hardly think
this is happening. Here in this bright absence
of day, I feel myself opening out
with contentment.
All around me the soft rain is whispering
of thousands of feet of air
invisible above us.
-Wayne Dodd
I am the grit in the gears, the missing bolt, I am the poker of sticks into spokes. I like to know how things work, but sometimes when I take them apart and rebuild them, I have a few pieces left over. I am a man, so I tend to leave reading the instructions until after it goes wrong. And like all men I have a comprehensive mental map of the world and never need to ask directions. I never get lost, only sometimes I'm late, or end up in the wrong place entirely. It's what we do.
For some reason the link on the map story isn't working but I heard about the woman suing about the maps. A fine example of taking responsibility for one's own life, eh? Nice poem.
ReplyDeletehttp://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5jkAd6Y7ouUJCxQAzWqxnD295i96gD9G2OBGO0
ReplyDeletegz (((O))))?
ReplyDeleteMax... Link works fine on mine, but I posted it here too.
Yes, nice poem. I have been there, in that place. Stepping outside from bustle and self-important trivia, and looking up into the vastness, into the universe.