What’s wrong?
Shouldn’t
We be tripping,
The light?
Fandango?
Losing the concubines
And reveling in another year,
Of friends and fracas?
Causing trouble
And pissing in the streets?
Instead your head is heavy.
Your slant,
Tropical.
Your speech,
Slumped in corpulent circumspect.
Your dreams are not mine.
They were once,
But things change.
Reason has been lost.
Sympathy shortened,
Signed.
We used to sing!
Plan. Turn tricks. Trifle with women.
Staked claims. Surmount oblivious breeds.
Calm waters. Torment truncated verse.
Now we try,
To trust.
To be.
Together.
On the same stage,
Rule the world with much haste.
We used to be,
Lost in the Barons.
Fur trappers.
Forced by nature to nurture.
We canoed rapids.
Hunted and fished.
Ate preserved meat.
Were.
Alive without temptation.
Without words.
With worries,
But of survival,
Mannish honor,
Strength.
Will we flush this all
Into olfactory abyss?
Cry simple and die slow?
It is my fear.
Just mine.
©DANIEL MORTON 2011
