No. 29

On A Wing

You make me believe my own myth
I can swallow myself
you tell me it is interesting to do so
I am not able to contradict myself
so your vision entitles me to savor the strange
view you like to reflect
and if you or me impose a distance
well, dear soul of mine,
I admit my canvas is different
and even when I think I see your landscape
bold vista that it might be
my tone can't change
it speaks of desire and it rants on and on
about some smoke smoldering in the underbrush
under convention
under and beneath
now that's an impossible distance
and since you
never ask me to speak it out
straight and narrow-like
clear and not diffused
unfiltered by poetic license
uncluttered by polite mannerisms
unblemished by un-spirited issues
since all of these things are considered
you make me so damn comfortable
with my pathetic myth
that I don't dare thank you
lest you see the fog for what
it might really be.

Piet Cross was born in the United States in 1952. He lives with his five children in Rhode Island where he plays baseball when he's not driving a taxi cab. Click Here to view the Piet Cross Poetry Index.

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Piet Cross Poetry-The Breeze Vectors, "On A Wing," No. 29
Published: August 1, 1998 by the Cosmic Baseball Association
Copyright © 1998 by Piet Cross