The Proximity of Reason – A Poem

 

The Proximity of Reason

I don’t see through the years any longer
the lines that once distinguished us.
A cavity in space that the flesh
in an unholy avarice drips into
yet never fills
distorts my sight.

There are no heroes here,
here where our histories have become confused,
no fey brethren camaraderie
to bend the world straight
and realign the constellations
in their image.

At noon I barter for supplies
with a martyr in the desert
whose lungs, too filled with the breath of life,
have become cancerous.
She recites abridged Shakespeare for soup
and under the sun the suffocating masses
cling to her voice,
the words,
lost in a hot toxic breeze,
drift pointlessly past them.

Change the discussion
to the proximity of reason
(for me, my dear, for me)
and instruct me on the secrets The Giants possessed
before they collapsed.
What price do we pay for the secure knowledge
of our own demise
gained as our sole inheritance
of their ruin?

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