Simple Sad Serious Things (Part 7)

Unlock and unfold
my friend. Unlock and unfold
the indie rock album cover landscape
with its etiolated grass,
lean-to sheds
and the ashes of the fire.
Let our hair and clothes
assume the essence of earthsmoke
and we'll pretend
we're grown-ups
recalling the summers by the river
in northern Ontario towns.
And we'll cry at the thought
of maple keys twirling downwards,
of stipples light in the grotto
(whatever that is),
of the fragrances of the fens and spinneys.
Or we'll laugh and laugh
at former garage-band antics,
the trombones, the strummed chords:
majors for the sunrise,
minors for night,
sevenths for the afternoon,
diminished sevenths for twilight,
arpeggios for precipitation,
steady-as-she goes bass lines
being, of course, the pulse of our lust.
And so, know, friend
that winter is coming
and vigor
for those who live opposite,
the secular Merlins.
And know that the brown gloom
of winter smog
beats grey gloom
of ice fog.
And grow that beard
for face warmth.
Learn to expect nothing from nature,
not insight from the circling of the birds,
nor resources, nor mates,
expect nothing--turn inward
to the ever-whistling tea kettle
behind your eyes.

Consider: "The fact that man knows right from wrong proves his intellectual superiority to the other creatures; but the fact that he can do wrong proves his moral inferiority to any creature that cannot."