Soundings

I am sad today because
Crippled men and women
Crippled children
The globe itself
Are merely
Wallowing
In the shadows
Of a hill
Created long ago
In a furious hunger

No room here
For the imperfections
Shadows
Feel more real
Than our bodies
One wants a shirt
That reads
“Fuck you, Plato”
Though he was
More a symptom

I’m told
Being blind
I’m a dark picture
On the water—
Hence
Incorporeal
Unlike
So not of confluence
With the hill
Gods say: let him go…

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto