void nor valid, fallacious nor fictitious

a cock crows

as the sun rises.

a cliché only true

in extremities.

its cries of depravity

invoked harshly from

the corner-stoned roofs

of our contently middle-class canaries.

i forget what it was,

because i’d be quite content;

to do just this,

to just settle down,

or up,

wherever it may be,

in the mountains,

alone with the strata, the sun.

to revel in a chorus

of adolescent amphibians,

as we pass through the brush

and i hold your hand.

mind your step: delicate, careful step,

while our youth pervades

imposed with an austere maturity.

we’re old enough to know now

that we can break precedents,

but we choose to stay here,

so comfortably,

only teasing those hazy, dotted lines;

when "sin", when "boredom",

toys with our menial, ruminative thoughts.

lo que se pasa acá, se queda acá,

they continue to preach to me.

yet what happens is so normal, so sane,

it's why we keep chasing your savior supreme.

that humanized conjecture,

with two hands and a click,

so central, so trivial,

with just two audible consonants.

void of substance,

your so-called, profound, ethical calculations,

based off that antiqued, eschatological hyperbole. 

just the same back and forth,

before the calm at sea.

as we sway, we sever,

as the waves tear at our anchor.

we’d rather watch the phoenix fly

while drowning solely amidst the tides.

yet holding on to something,

something that has meaning, 

void or valid, fallacious, 

even moreover fictitious. 

it’s a reminder of home,

of those who’ve past,

of those in our stories,

while they tear at the mast.

again we follow script,

the same tragic story,

for a headline, for a postcard,

for the same bitter tears,

in the same rendered state,

of such grave tragedy,

such a heartfelt fit of saddened tragedy. 


Brandon Lee Kramer © 2011