lest we regret.
July 28, 2010 at 9:42pm
For every seven things I think, I speak on one,
saving six for later when,
even if I don't remember why it bordered the other five,
I'll speak another.
For every cent I save, I spend another ten
losing eleven in all, losing all
It's true, I quit counting when I stopped earning
And began spending myself instead.
Every breath we've taken,
we aired between our
pairs of lungs
even when we know there's barely air to share.
For every step ahead, it's said
One will lose one, or two instead.
A puzzling paradox when you consider
We're barely moving amidst these crowds
of shuffling feet and hanging heads,
lost, a step at a time, trying to remember our own feet
rather, whether they truly are planted beneath us
or if we've rooted ourselves to the ground,
a step away from where we wanted to be.
For every metered mile, driving feverishly forward,
there are halving distances, multiplying questions
and divisions of heart and mind, body and soul
after all, before you can get to where you're going,
you must go halfway first
and at that rate, you never quite arrive
there's no way to arrive at one if
you always divide by two.
For every one, there's another.
It's something of which we've never really bothered keeping count.
No one really ever did the math,
but the odds are, it eventually evens out.
The decision, then, is to just let seven be seven.
Let the thoughts begging and pulling be words,
To arrive, newborn and dazed
Into the crackling static air of our age.
To bring them out into the cold from the womb
and hang them up,
raise them until the brink of their confusion
their eleventh hour
and watch them as they swing
with the gentle sway
as gallow's quarry.