CHUTE

CHUTE

if we were
aligned skew
       during manufacture

and so conjure up
a monstrously concocted version
of original divine image

what hope is there
for us to unentangle

the moment of beauty
is exalted
     but passing

no sooner gone than
    plunged headlong again

into
theme of survival

Ah, the cycle:

flameout,
         parachute

rip cord
    again failing

nothing to steer you clear
you clear  of those onrushing rocks

about
  to hit you at terminal velocity

all I can do
       for you: this
         song of regret