I just got back from braggart expositions, the overcultivated, dried-out tracts
of advocacy.
Their fields of analysis weren’t fully reaped,
but I had to flee the void they inflated within me;
they drained me of decision;
they made me doubt my impetuosity, the only life impulse.
I returned to my precipice,
where I could watch the floods rise with the
wrath of those dropped from the formulae of the initiates.
When the elect hitch me to the wrong harrows,
I throw their tools for scrap;
they are left open-mouthed in their obscurity;
their tongues so quick to flicker over lamps of learning hang limp as I pass by.
It is necessary to exist in a very narrow space.
There’s no possibility for increase; there is a great probability of escalation.
A fresh ash falls.
Thank you for presenting your dissertation. It reminded me there was another meadow
where figures cavort as a dawning possibility.
No shades drag their chains there.
I cautiously step within; I close my eyes; I am numbered as one of the dancers.
Now I can live with intent.
Andy Oram
August 9, 2020