Most of our lives are lived in paralysis
Metropolis to Metropolis:
It is never adequate.
This fixation on a catalysis—
A changing, ultimate catharsis—
Proves our nature as languid.
We fail to effectively relinquish
That vividly desolate image
Which lures us on pilgrimage.
On this search, we do not live.
Our research cannot fix
My life was intensified by an element—
That named woman.
I sought to understand the strands of hair
Belonging to bodies so fair.
Yet, now I remain adamant
About the measures of the Vatican
To patronize their secret lairs.
Their bodies are extravagant,
But, like Larkin, not fit
To satisfy my affairs.
Everyone has one, and then, upon
Disappointment, another search has begun.
The road continues down the slope, and then some,
But it never is done.
Comments about this poem (Cathartic Paralysis by Edwin Cordero )
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