The Ransom Ode [with audio!]

Just after the motivation to continue subsides, 
there is a quiet and cooler path to pass through, 
abovethe peaks to either side the shouting 
blows across, nothing of meaning captured 
just the weight of the brow. Those who want to 
say that the rush of feeling, these thickenings and 
tensions, lag behind what the mind figures, how do they 
account for those emptied moments, when 
racing to the water ahead of me
shedding clothes 
is called up pristine its detail everything. 
I am lost in it then, like a stumble almost, history 
breathes a bit too loudly just as something 
lands in methroughoutlike a narcotic lands, but 
is just this clench seesawing with shivers, asking 
will it take me? and then it does, or doesn't. 
Believe anything, whether it matters probably 
doesn't matter. So, picking up at weight of brow, 
one learns how to stalk the day and kill it, perhaps 
starting with a mortal wound, but favoring those 
that let it linger for a few more torments, a pot
of coffee on. Pump it up with best intentions, then 
beat those to floor crying out to be entertained, but 
not very loud, good neighbors. But let's return 
to the stormy weather and cave and barren hill, 
all designed to turn trapped animal into noble savage 
who at least climbed a miserable hill. But the resonating truth 
in metaphor is that as we stiffen under ice it seems as if 
it's getting warmer, not so bad, just to drift as if one were 
not looking back at the airport gate, a montage of sunshine 
and something of you is here with me, then darkness. 
Dreams that would take much further than tomorrow 
are too expensive to maintain.

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