is this your face swollen with mastic
your lethargic words imparting naught
your eyes half closed and dull as plastic
awaiting bugger all, you silly old sot
“one foot at a time” were wisdom indeed
for one impartially rooted in nothingness
forever lacking a goal, bereft of a creed
unimaginative even in what you confess
an electrical jolt might do you some good
though lobotomized your brain still resists
even the slightest defiant act that you could
have managed with feeble unclenchèd fists
I would fain offer you yet some guidance
to emancipate your overly stimulated soul
and release you from this intransigent trance
but I know you to find my words rather droll
so with your permission, in lieu of aught better
one thing I must say before my patience dies
should you ever break free of this fetid fetter
revisit at once your most interminable lies
strive to embrace what you must have known
in youth, in childhood, perhaps in the womb
a truth that was vibrant before you were grown
but now seems destined for naught but your tomb
that the world you inhabit and seek to ignore
is far older, wiser, and more lovelier than you
so open your eyes, man, and choose to adore
a miracle of motherhood, good, kind and true
Salt Lake City 14 May 2012
From Alpine Lake, California (1984)
George Ellington 