Ahead Of Jericho

No music is up to the task
of shifting my loneliness tonight;
no painting or poem will soften
my walls. No dance, no stagework,

no acting, no more to be done
to change any of this.
I will sit instead on the couch
and think about slayings

and oil and erasure. 
I will not cry as it will make a sound
and that might become a melody
and that might be an invitation 

to community and I
can’t take community tonight.
I am alone tonight; we all
are, in the last analysis, and this

is indeed the last analysis. Millions of us
sitting on couches in silence,
as solitary as once-holy stones
standing in old fields, stones

not making any sound.  

Tomorrow we may wake 
to wind in the stones, 
whistling a new song.  We may 
choose to dance, we may choose

a pantomime love play
to perform among them, 
then march to the palaces
and tear them down while singing

Jericho-loud songs; but tonight
we all sit solo with silence and grief —
and at least for me, alone in my room,
it is exactly what I need

to prepare — a tight evening
of nothing doing.  A tight night
of lying in wait. A predawn
full of silent longing. A sunrise leap

out of dreams into our new world.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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