Soliloquy

— © 1991, Troy K Spears

That the center shall hold...
Perhaps any center would suffice to hold.
Hold what?
Perhaps a passion, perhaps a thought.
How can a thought hold without a passion?

The hero and the saint
and the poor creature they ride,
blurring the division,
art and artist physically enmeshed,
god and beast,
nothing and something.

how the emptiness fills the statue
turns mute rock into eloquent pose,
and what the poet didn't say
is what we take away from the poem.

Spirit as art, as résumé? as social function?
as propogation of the bloodline?

God, who does not move, moves the world
as the beloved moves the lover,
but sometimes the beloved blows the lover
to smithereens.

That the beloved shall hold?
That the lover be held?
The world turn for one more day?
The sun, shall it feed tired plants
and not breathe all life away
from this thin atmosphere
into its comic cosmic wind?

Ah dream! Ah blessed moment! Ah perfect!

The razor sings to me from the bathroom sink,
and a fragrant mediterranean breeze blows across my face.
a desire to travel awakens,
a desire to go home.

That the center shall hold...
what delusion!
The center is only center because we devalued the edges.

The only task left is to devalue also the center.