Thor, the Norse God of Thunder, had a hammer named Mjölnir. Mjölnir was considered a fierce weapon that could level mountains and summon lightning with every blow. In this poetry blog, every Thursday, (Thor’s Day), Mjölnir will forge only song - sing of the mysteries and beauties of the world.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013


THE NOTARY

We can exit modernity any way we want -  
as historians, futurians, anachronists -
with all our erudition and experience
gathered together like books
in a schoolboy’s satchel.

We can leave our tortoise shells by the roadside
while we search for the perfect tomorrow,
not realizing that our nearsightedness and libidos
are cargo we can’t help but carry
no matter where we go.

Maybe the way you feel right now
is the way I feel right now.
Wouldn’t that be the bomb.

It’s hard to find a haystack 
when all there is is
- never mind the needle - hay.
Ya know what I mean?

I guess what I’m trying to say is:

The rest of our lives happen
to nobody else but us.
We are the silhouettes on the horizon
waving semaphores like signalmen
trying to catch our own damn attention
before it’s too late, while the sun’s cameo,
like a Hitchcock, crosses the sky.

How about we agree now, 
with this moment as our notary,
not to be caught watching
the aforementioned fireball
dousing itself, day after day,
in a sea of complacency.
Let's not stage this scene as a sequel
framed by the same window, in the same room,
where we do nothing more than 
rifle through the thesaurus  of our minds
searching for new synonyms for the word sunset.

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