I watch.
I see.
Catechumen sitting on the stairs
strange and distant.
Confusion between his cradling hands
his head the babe.
The mind cradled in the child.
*
He’s sitting on the answer.
The stairs.
Eternal
Ephemeral
Up
Down
Spiraling no end
Each ending abruptly
a scale on a snake
Each step a piece of life
and so it goes on.
A feather floats
Silently
Haphazardly
Creating it’s own geometry in the air
It’s own geometry waltzing.
Distant music.
Shallow hum of people.
Laughter, shouts
Distant
All texture the air quite pleasantly.
*
And still he thinks.
This catechumen
still pondering.
Me watching
like a teacher – no
a god.
Distant, quiet
respectful of his wandering.
Me, dressed in black.
Typical of a god of war,
no – destruction.
Leaning against a wall
drink in one hand,
cigarette in the other.
Simply observing.
*
I could give him the answer
but that would be too
convenient.
Too awesomely devastating.
I have had many masters:
music
television
time.
All sour and sweet
I have been a loyal disciple
to The God
to a god
to all gods
and still I find only one.
Only one to be true to.
*
I remain a disciple to myself.
