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On Losing (and why that's not the point)

The unclimbed peak, to me,

restless little heathen

of commercialized adventuredom,

is the interminable challenge.

Ferocious, majestic, riveting spires

that obscure the humble hill

in the long-suffering alpen lake,

incapable but inculpable of communicating

to each indignant spire

that his hair is wind-blown out of proportion.


The tallest of the circus of unclimbables is the ego.


You, yet, haven’t a right to anything

higher than your handsome profile.


Picture the modern alpinist:

endorsed by every groan of industry

he can summon

and recall

the haggard heroes

of Expedition Honesty.

The winds of mountains global follow eager little eyes

and when did they ever lose?

So be rawed and awed and hat-holding cold

when meeting the expectant squall,

for man does not climb by legs alone,

for a trophy we atrophy needlessly.

Heedless, our uninformed enemy

waits.

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