A Poem, The Precipice

The Precipice

On a precipice
staring at what
I’ve left behind
(although it might
be what’s to
come or an
imaginary downfall product
of a barrage
of statements,
and suggestions,
and suspicions
that we’re all
alone, and it’s
up to you
whether you fall
fail or get-over
the hastily built
rope bridge with
so many missing
planks it’s hardly
worth trying to
pass), and an
Inuk Chuk stands
on the other side.

It looks like Jesus.

I passed out
before the precipice
woke-up and dawn.
Things were the
same. The Jesus
Inuk Chuk stood
histrionic and static.
I stared at
it while the
sun made shadows
grow on the
planks of the
rope bridge. Hunger
came and went
then came again.
It grew cold.
I was tired.
I did not
walk forward but
turned my back
on the Inuk
Chuck, avoiding grace,
plodding downcast, more
confused than ever,
towards my home.