Upstream, across the stream
to the bottom, it could have been
done, if the stars were aligned and
the temperature poignant enough
to boil over and reveal
the full of its power. It could have toppled
security measures, unified its truth
with popular culture if the apex had been
achieved and the ceiling cracked to cave in and
collide the sky in conjunction with the ground.
It could still gallop, unbridled
through the neighboring streets and then out, across
boarders. Unlike the delusions
that dripped over the tub, keeping
us awake all night, flooding toenails and ankles, crossing
over miles to vaporize in the first warm breeze, it is stronger.
Stronger than any ego-charm, continuing its supremacy,
aching, as it clears the deck
of the frivolous and the unnecessary.
It could still be seen as enormous
as it is – breath-gasping, far-reaching,
a hot glowing hut
of mystical enterprise.
Take it down, every inch, scatter it
among the needy. Feed it as crackers
without spread, for its
nature is substance and its time
is a slow forming tornado,
gaining friction, gaining on destiny.
Copyright © 2017 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “Novelmasters” November 2016
Published in “Episteme, Volume 5, Issue 3” December 2016
You can listen to the poem by clicking below:
Reblogged this on The Militant Negro™.