Who will nurse the crippled alphabet
deemed defunct in its expired cahoots
with my purpose when I’m called upon
to trade this crinkled plane of conscience in
for a more luxuriant serfdom of awareness?
Who will skew what I will deem remnants
undeserving of the crowning moniker of
legacy into the vertex of firmament ‘a la mode’?
Is is pretentious even to consider
such scenarios in light of the ballooning sphere
of vices I derive a sense of exercise from like
a jock-eyed Atlas strapped for quality time
with showmanship once reserved for Earth
angels now exhausted on an abstract purpose?
I think I’ve fraternized with demons
and I think I’m still alive
and so I ask the questions of a brooding cross
between sociopathic and metaphysical
from the droll dimensions of my paper cage
enforced with the adhesion of environmental vertigo
To the planet I belong
and in enigma I invest
All I ask is that you not tread
so heavily on my beleaguered shoulders
for my gravity is your communication
which someday will be revoked and
integrated into your analysis of me
I don’t want years of words to fall into
a stoked eternity of referential gestures
Steven Fortune is the author of five poetry books, and has appeared in several print and online publications, including a feature on CBC Radio. He has also served as a Head Editor for his publisher's company. Steven resides in Sydney, Nova Scotia.