Muttering Small Talk at the Wall
The driver peeks out, trying to find one face
In this concrete world full of souls.
The angels play on their horns all day,
The whole earth in progression seems to pass by.
But does anyone hear the music they play,
Does anyone even try?
- Dylan
“Of Lead”
and I found only lead
raw as the planted seed
held by these hands failing to perceive
but that lead,
that lead is all i’ve got.
leading with fingertips through the dark
below the smoke of proposed answers
on my hands,
on my knees.
finding the personal and arbitrary wonders
down,
on my hands,
on my knees.
from this fine lead
finding infinite potential
to this birch stripped of bark.
asking for control seems naive
why need restraint today?
just look deep and penetrate the bare earth
find the inner surge to stay in touch
release the Secret and hold the line.
and when it started with the crack of a pencil- -
shattered under the weight it bore;
I looked past the shield and into the world.
Writing without weight
Dreaming without material
Touching the intangible
Disintegrate.
floating through the looking glass
tasting the bark of this world
flawlessly interrogating the sun.
I tried,
I tried to face the paper with loaded lead
to write without the fear of breaking
and now i’m down,
down,
on my hands
on my knees
looking for my head
searching for room to expand
but finding only lead.
