Traveling without wheels
on a morning with Mozart.
En route to meet St. Jane of Grape street,
Symphony #41 in C major
begins just beyond Rita's house.
A walking meditation
performed on aching feet.
When traveling without wheels
ignored rhythms become ghostly memory
faceted by sensory recall.
Time seemingly stands still,
grounded by a gentle spring snow fall,
resurrecting the tulips.
They rise to the occasion enthusiastically
in the neglected gardens of foreclosed homes
where the columbines have returned to the wild
and the neighbor's dog has left his mark.
I miss my car.
Not far away,
in the fast lane,
the new world order has arrived
heralded by many twittering voices
echoing talking head sound bytes.
Suspiciously green busses lurch to a stop
inhaling and exhaling passengers,
then lurch forward farting eco-friendly fumes.
Cars school along asphalt paths
transporting passengers with no sense of purpose.
They hoot their hybrid frustrations
in front of the children.
They search the web for truth
only to find mediocraty and pop star culture.
But for the grace of gravitational pull
do we cling to the surface of this world,
held together by centrifugal force
Insanity has been misdiagnosed,
ignored, and placed in a position of power.
Quos deus vult perdere prius dementat.
Those whom a god wishes to destroy
he first drives mad.
If the ancestors could see this
they would shake their heads in dismay.
They would renounce any familial connection.
We bully each other.
We bully Mother Nature.
She is dying by degrees.
The medicine man is screening our calls.
He is too busy watching Dancing With the Stars,
and counting his plundered treasure.
The final notes of the final movement
bring my apocalyptic musings to an end.
It would not do
to carry such thoughts into the temple
sheltering my own personal patron saint
of all things poetic.
© L. L. Kelly 2011