Playing the Indian Card

Thursday, May 05, 2016

A Voice from the Eastern Mountains

Over there to the left,
Against the sun
You see the smith god falling,
His big square hammer in his hand.
I've been watching him seven days,
And still he is falling.

Here on the right, the sea foam
Gathers into girl--
A sure sign somebody's lost his nuts.

A beautiful thing is about to happen;
There will be furies soon.
There will be a wedding, or a civilization,
Or a car chase, or a rhyme.

I condemn such prophecy and such trinketry
For it is an all-consuming fire.
I have learned to fear such beauty and such falling.

But I can do little, to help others or myself,
Pinioned to this solitary mountain

As an analyst battens on my guts.

-- Stephen K. Roney

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