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:





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