THE MAN TIRESIAS

THE MAN TIRESIAS

THE MAN TIRESIAS

It came out of nowhere.
All teeth and tussle.
Shouting like huge crowds behind him.
 
It stamped on his bones.
It shovelled his muscle.
Alone in a clearing where no one would find him.
 
He writhed in its jaws:
his lovers flashed past him.
The routine, the dinners, the dishes.
 
He felt the dense forest
close in and enchant him.
Cleansed of his longing for kisses.
 
He rose like a wreck on a winch.
Swaying and derelict.
Suddenly boy again. Soon to be man.
 
All of his grief was a burden to keep
deep down in his guts.
And he turned and he ran.
 
Fighting with shadows.
Swinging at birds as they laughed.
Too shaken to hate what had happened.
 
All that he’d learned to be true
fell to pieces.
He stared at the sun till it blackened.
 
Watching his body like it wasn’t his.
He pushed his new shape
to the edge of the clearing.
 
And found the red road
that led out of the city.
And screamed until no one could hear him.
 
He journeyed for days,
until he was purified.
Feasting on tree bark and roadkill and petrol.
 
Macho man; ate cars for breakfast.
Natural man; skin the same texture as cactus.
Hands grew wild and dextrous and flew at his side like two kestrels.
 
His feet became tougher than limpets
his eyes became keener than knives,
his breath melted padlocks.
 
He heard a leaf falling
from five miles away,
and he moved like a dog on a ham hock.
 
All knowledge was his
and he learned the old words
for the things that he saw. He spoke out their names.
 
He learned to forget
his hurt and regret
he walked on his own, legs like two flames.
 
He grew dirty and tired and thirsty,
at the next town
he decided to stop at the bar.
 
And he saw then: no matter how far you have come,
you can never be further than right where you are.