Sleight Of Mind Poem by jim hogg

And in the shadows, many worlds
that might have been, or still might be
each moment ripe with stones to turn
and options that remain unseen.

With hints of chaos threatening,
unknowns surround our every move,
and so we've fashioned shapely things
to keep the night from breaking through

from elsewhere in this universe.
but maybe most of all from deep
within the loaded mind that tends
to keep its secrets out of reach.

No comet lights that alien night,
no streaking solitary dance,
of silver sparks and blazing ice.
On mescaline I might advance

deep into cavernous concerns
through unseen furniture of mind
and exit stuffed with things I've learned:
of light that hints at signs of light!

But there's no mirror that reveals
beyond the mocking work of age
and even madness cannot see
the sleight of mind behind the veil.

The architecture of the self
lies crouched within the laws of chance
and out we spring, both code and flesh.
I guess I must have wanted once

to be much more than fate would grant
but not for long I'd argue now.
Ecclesiastes ended that,
and pledges that endured somehow;

(or so my vanity suggests.
Temptation preys on history
I constantly remind myself,
but still I'm taking liberties)

and questions I can't answer here
- unravelling takes a lot of lines -
but if I could I'd start with me:
the trickiest of all the mines

I'd have to make my way back down,
through bottles smashed against the bricks,
across from Maggie Gibson's house
to test my moral reasoning;

and through a neighbour's weekly rounds:
the Finlay girl who crossed the street
to bring me all the current sounds
and latest issue magazines,

that opened up a wealth of worlds,
although I hadn't looks to suit,
or tendency to overturn
the rock hard rules I couldn't brook:

the expectations of the time.
Plus, there was always work to do.
It kept me from the uncrossed line,
and shaping forces that shape who

or even what, or still more, why,
though many paths seemed mine to take;
the world invades us on the fly,
and genes parade us if they dare

against the trends that rule the age.
I shaped myself to fit the grooves,
as if those moves were mine to make,
and slayed the lives I couldn't choose.

The quandaries of who we are,
remain for millions everywhere.
The bravest step across the bar;
while legions never make the break.