November 2004

Tear in the Mist

 

It doesn’t take an ounce of

supernatural peanut butter

or burger abandon or bypass surgery

to know that the heart is just as

risky as all its rewards

 

the spice of love is not all-purpose

nor a personal thumb organ

to play around with

 

like a topaz dream

life appears dark and glass-like

to a brain accustomed to brand names

and a lifetime of shmaltz

 

to the naked aristocrat

even the love of nature is embarassing,

why would you want to see that?

especially on cam, grainy and dreary,

a small dark grotto under the overhang

 

the sky is busy with franchisers

chiseling their way up the Fundy fault

trying to get a crack at real guaccamole

 

so while we’re waiting for the cosmological cook-off

you can play aint-it-awful about the night shift, 

bemoan God’s dice in the dark rationality,

and rue the day your fried egg future began

 

you know, this is your brain on

everything you think you need

 

contemplate:

it should bring back memories

of more exciting times

when life was uncertain

and death lingered in the air

 

the contrast of it all 

is like a tear in the mist

below the falls where the whole world

comes crashing down.

Photo by Richard Cox

Copyright Jimmy Warner, 2004