Hear, O world. I will read this
proclamation. This is my day
not yours. My mouth to overcome.
After many years the knees get
lazy. People die. Sorrow invades
the gut. We must be very clear.
All those miles of ink mean something.
It is an incantation. The sound
of the pages filling. Now the wind
reaches its bony fingers around
my neck. I am turning my back
upon the gods. Fate can take a hike.
That mountain to my left is calling,
calling. It is good the sun goes to
the west to sleep. Old age means
nothing. You can see the clouds
link arms. I am asked to follow.
Arise, words, see how the body flies.
john mann poems 
I like this poem–like it allot. I like the brokenness of the line breaks–so deliberate. Myself and Rilke (I just like the way that sounds “myself and Rilke”) agree that a certain amount of pride and defiance is appropriate before the Godz and its satrap fate, who probably would disrespect us for lack of spine otherwise–more than they do already. By my reckoning, you have your 80 more recent poems and it is time for a new book. Where do you stand on that?
Hi, Steve. Myself and Rilke–that made my day! I am glad you like this poem. I do too. I’ve got another ms. out making the rounds right now, but so far, nothing. Who knows. The universe might allow it, if I get lucky.
All best, John
On Sat, Apr 22, 2017 at 1:44 PM, john mann poems wrote:
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