Below the Fold

Here, From There

I've been catching myself wondering where the poets have all gone. Seems they've had their tongues tied. Maybe they were all paid a visit and given good reasons to cease and desist. Replaced by loud-mouthed ranters who spend more time covering up than revealing. Shouting behind stances and postures. Don't dare say a derogatory word. You just might get blackballed from the in-crowd.

Looking around for a hero. Someone to lay claim to the great traditions of standing up for something beyond themselves. Those that went miles out of their way to address an injustice. Why is it that all I see is people looking out for themselves and going to excessive measures to avoid being counted. And when someone does they get to carry labels like "troublemaker" and "freak" and worse. And all the docile observers will distance themselves to avoid any fallout. But they'll be there when the smoke clears. Singing praises and reaping benefits.

I have this image, I'm not sure where it derives from. A line of wind-blown trees is standing in the distance, at the edge of a field, on some afternoon horizon. It could be from a picture postcard -- the kind you'd turn around and expect to see a postmark from a year long passed, accompanied by a cryptic message about the difference between here and there, the kind of lines that beg to be read between -- making you think the scene on the other side is going to be the last thing you see when this world manages to run itself out.

And, should that be the case, I try to imagine what might be on the other side of that tree line. What are those guardians shielding?...blocking all the stormy weather from?

I've got the feeling one might find a distinctly unearthly social setting. Some place full of bluesmen and truth tellers and stand-up citizens. All gathered at the edge of time to take things to the next level. Stepping up and setting the stage.

And there would be a really big doorman. And I'm pretty sure that the list in his back pocket would be very exclusive. Probably the biggest mistake one could make, if one were to seek admission, would be to assume that any rule structure that worked where you came from was going to work where you're trying to get to.

Yeah, you'd try to bribe the doorman or flash him a smile and inform him of all the people you know. And he'd probably laugh in your face. And you'd demand entrance, citing all the exclusive places you've been before, all populated with solid citizens with good hair and clean faces. And then the doorman would probably start getting angry and threaten to get up from his chair. Which you wouldn't want to happen. Believe me.

Cause there's only one thing that's going to get you to the other side of them trees. And you'd better be good and prepared when you cross that line.

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