Notes About The Poem
From my novel in-progress, “Occam’s Legacy,” the following is an attempt to create some free verse gist of a conversation in New York between Jarod and a befriended Native American war vet, Pump.
Totems of What If
Totems of What If
Can we ever escape
that which we create
but often choose to ignore
Like the mismatched rocks of a cairn
random choice is not an option
complimenting shapes and sizes
make up one's balance
one's direction
one's harmony
Yet some
Aspiring high rise urban dwellers
live a rock steel and glass totem life
stacking mismatched building blocks
like mutated animal lineage not of the fittest
unknowingly making unbalanced direction
even while gasping air to defy their self-made reality
Might they be destined to realize a primeval demise
like a surreal incarnation atop modern scaffold
where ghostly burial rites of Great Plains nomadic tribes
wait to happen
Can primitive wisdom ever penetrate assumed importance
before the inverted vortex of tumbling balance
consumes itself atop the rising funnel of ignorance
distilling the wrongs of misbegotten power
to but sand kernels of infinity's hourglass
Such might be the destiny of man's innate totems
the unique building blocks that make us the species we are
while stealthily we try desperately to become a species we are not
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