Talking to scorpions


 

When my height is matched only by my age,the sage told me, ‘that I will have found an ecstasy so rare,that no one will ever, have ever been there.
I count the rings as if I am a tree
but ecstasy eludes me, as I knew it would.

I could have counted grains of sand and after,started on the rice or carved upon a cuckoos egg,something very nice,just to let the cuckoo know,that we know why she builds no nest.

I have festered long enough and boiled up in the glare of a staring midday sun,it’s time and time has just begun to interest me,
never mind the ecstasy, that will come as surely as the night begets the day,one day my day will arrive in all its splendour.
This is the agenda that I look towards the sky and pray for,
a gender difference in her magnificence and I would bow before this maiden,laden as I am with all these wantings in my head.

I read once in a book,
that all it took was just a look and then we’re trapped,wrapped inside her spider web,carried off and eaten in her silken bed,but I would like to try it anyway,come what may my day will run before the settings of another sun and I will taste that which is fun or I will die,
in contempt and contemptuous of my inconsistency,I allude again to my search for ecstasy and is it that my eyes or indeed my body fail me,when she hails me from her sanctuary?
and I see only what I want to see,
something that the sage had been careful not to tell me,
fruitless.
On the tree of evolution, I am just some insects ignorant secretion and as I wait for some predetermined ‘who dares wins’completion
I count again the rings.

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