The First Man On Earth
06/23 2021
The first man walks the desert alone,
Parched, feverish and a head full of memories
Empty, yet at the same time every ruin he passes
Reminds him of that which was borrowed
The flame, the wooden box & the spirits
Envision his past and his future
The mirage in the distant
Plays with his anxieties.
He fidgets with his fingers,
The sweat drips from his forehead
To the sand hissing,
Donkey by his side fitting
The role of Sancho Panza,
Don Quixote his noble master walking beside him,
His steed Rocinante,
Goes on in front of them as a shadow,
Leaves the man gasping for breath as he chases it.
He has heard stories of an ancient people,
That transformed the earth below,
Forming reality in their picture ---
A picture more resembling a tragedy
Of the most gargantuan proportions
Space-fights, lightsabers and NYC cab drivers
And all of those words that carry no meaning.
Water, cool water, to his donkey and him
Is enough to fill a thousand picture frames
And besides, he doesn't really care anyways.
His goal is the mountaintop,
Where they gather on top of a giant stomach
Gaia, and all of her siblings.
Atlas, carries it all on his shoulders
Even the desert pouring out of his side.
Cain was envious of Able's beach property.
The garden never even existed,
Except in the realm of our dreams,
Inverted upon a black canvas,
The man walks on,
He's just too close not to ---
He can even see the edges
Of the mirage's shadow
Dancing across the dunes
And the ruins of old
Turn into the stories
That his children gather before.
Nameless entities laughing, spinning,
Crying and murdering.
Their way to their corresponding
Reflection in our collective unconscious.
On the night he lays in the cool sand,
Gazes up toward the skies
Of falling stars, steadfast lights
and legends of old
Himself, only, of course.
Dulcinea snores loudly.
Sancho Panza sighs in his sleep.
Quixote breathes out moisture from his mouth,
The story requires it.