...as Kafka's Gregor's body became, overnight,
a shell, an outer exo-skeleton.
a defense mechanism of sorts
from the world's caustic elements,

so do i, daily.

hardened, roach-like, spindly legs,
segmented torso, but aware
with Einstein antennae of the change;
the transmutation of one man,

so do i, you too.

i parallel poor Gregor, he's not alone
except in his fictional being;
whereas my 'morrows lay piled
at my feet, i see my hard shell,

so do you, no escape.

i've no control; early decades stacked
with harsh-ginger my life's lessons learned
by disappointment, and disillusion
begin my annealing process-my hardening,

nor do you.

now, Mt. Rushmore is my mentor, my liege
with its silent, stern nature
no more concerned with the wind and rain
that abrase it daily, moment by moment,

nor cares to stop it.

but i stand and speak silence by my movement
of mountain and men with transitions
of phonemes from place to place,
only to exit with the early morning fog.

having been only a pigment
of my un-imagination.

05/24/2005