Cordova Behind Us
Eight of us transcend into something more
Beyond which the known provinces could finally stop lying about
Taste of river fish on our tongues
Berries packaged by the quadrillions in lockers below
The course set out before us by those who would not join
Mathematicians with their stencils frightened by an aggregate
Disobeying angles and physics found mostly in labyrinths
A cautionary tale waiting to be passed down among generations
It’s dark, it’s light, it’s always some mixture
Difficulties catching your breath as the mechanisms pump
Though easy enough to breathe when focused on a unified task
Surprised beyond measure to learn stasis reeks of stale marshmallows
Everything in circular formation from the moment we wake up
Bending a knee meant less when it ever meant more
Tablets conditioned to soothe with dynamic frequency
It’s heavy, it’s light, it’s always some mixture
Utmost is expected because we tested to know better
Eight minds tasked to become one
A filament ignites and the federate quashes in chorus
Squawking pigeons deliver direction transmitted by automaton
Home; a new home; our new home
Years in the making, decades to discover failure
None detected so none could ever resist feeling foolish
The parchment written a thousand times over since Ulysses
Floating On sold to us in the same false manner as Fighting On
Now closer to everything that we all eagerly once pushed away
Ransacked and ravaged with each pulsating neuron
It’s bleak, it’s bleaker, it’s always some mixture
A.M. Pfeffer
A.M. Pfeffer
Tags:
Poetry