Neal Hall writes

Where’s The Precipice       
   
from Jupiter the fine lines        
are not linear distinct, defined        
they’re blurred of contrast,        
purpose, perspective   
   
from Mercury        
oil can’t see its flame,    
a stained teacup drained its cup of tea    
pours its empty cup of tea in me   
   
sometimes when you’re        
at  your last you ask        
where’s the precipice,        
that edge weary feet and toes        
aligned themselves side by side            
to hang beyond    
before their synchronized leap   
   
is this all we’ve lived up to be        

Venus, Uranus warned us,    
we’re vicious wolves ripping    
at flesh beyond the hunger   
   
fat cats getting fatter storing    
fat beyond their need of fat   
   
atrocious agents of atrocities,        
we’re blood thirst Romans in revel,    
sitting below Saturn and Pluto        
in coliseums to watch Rome burn   
   
we’re the white elephants in    
a room of gloom pointing at the    
white elephant in the room   
   
if this is this all we’ve lived up to be    

where’s the precipice,        
that edge weary feet and toes        
aligned themselves side by side            
to  hang beyond before    
their synchronized leap   
   
this is not living       
   
we’ve become something other        
than humanity,    
skin slithering out of skin    
molts of men, sloths of mankind   
   
there’s a time to step away    
a time when you want        
no more time to want,        
time to let time slide from high    
above a washed up shore    
where the ocean roars up        
to your falling    

if  this is all we’ve lived up to be        
leave me to gravity, the calm    
comforting whistling of the air    
on the ear on the way down   
   
where’s the precipice,        
that edge weary feet and toes        
aligned themselves side by side            
to hang beyond before    
their synchronized leap   
   
when this is all we’ve lived up to be   
   
this is not living   
   
where’s the precipice,    
where’s my precipice    
the calm comforting whistling of the air        
on the ear on the way down   
   
where’s my precipice   


Precipice -- Robert and Shana ParkeHarrison