Poem: Icarus At His Center

[jakebe]

Icarus at his Center


scribblescribblescratchscratch
always in aim for that next perfect thing
that one big fix that'll rocket you
straight up the top
like Sisyphus, baby!
stretch and pant and strain and stress
for those extraordinary pinfeathers
some of those pieces that lock just right
under your nose...
(stupid)
scribblescribble
scra...
...
and then, you falter,
you pinwheel, in shame
blowing your wonderful wax all over the faces
of disapproving avians who draft easier than you:
you have broken your stride
in the middle of the sky.
scratch...

The tight bright face of flyer's remorse,
the red-faced turn-tail back to the drawing board
another funeral for another burned idea
and again, you flew too soon
wings tucked and brain amazed
at your very clever po-mo structure
but the wings grew humid
and you were undone by the sweat from your brow
those copies of Munchausen's wings
you fashioned into a servant hippoglib
are flimsy remnants of the real thing
why don't you bow your head, boy
and recite yourself a long, long prayer.

everyone dreams of being great
of being worldly and wise and witty
you want to control the wind
and it just doesn't work that way
you want the smoke and mirrors
the pack of whirling dervishes
that just wanna give you a little
fame and fortune
but wouldn't it be great to go for the calm?
maybe if you could just wade to that eye,
get to some place you could
hold

Here,
with everything around you,
you make it under your own steam
and the more you lose from the pull of the periphery
the more steam you build,
until you are completely weightless.