Visit to the Grand Canyon

Visit to the Grand Canyon

Sitting together on the bumper at the edge of the Grand Canyon I see sonnet vultures circling the North Rim and I’m suddenly hungry for a sonnet, but the cover is more than I want to pay.

It’s an odd feeling, like being in a bar and realizing what you want, more than anything,

is Eucharist

Knowing you are no stranger to hunger, I say, “Does it seem odd to you that one who lectures others for a living would use the term “drill down” as a metaphor for clarification?”    

“Drilling is what two  sweaty men with a boom truck do in the middle of a field – creating a navel through which waters return to the sky. “

“Drilling is two mosquitoes inserting a steel proboscis 308 feet into the earth’s epidermis to a self-betraying vein that draws down a witches willow wand.”

“Drilling is what two reprobates do, sitting silent on the bumper of a truck as the sun sets, inserting memory needles into pains that go unnamed, immeasurable and unredeemed.”

“No,” you say,” those who steal words to describe a stolen life are always dressing themselves up like that in artifacts stolen from the lives of others.  It is the main reason they don’t write sonnets.”

LFM

May, 9, 2014 (formatting altered by Blogger.  Should be couplets.)