(Dredged up from the fringe media aftermath of the U.S., not Chilean, 9/11)
Mode Of Failure
At the moment of failure, just when that flaw now somehow chosen key
has fit its customary role in tales sure to find themselves soon
amended by demand of contingency's illusory need,
the first affected floor gives into the air beneath the second shoe,
which is that floor itself in fall; and not the top, and not the bottom,
and not the center of levels, not any marked or noted place
one could in hope have known, pretend to have shied from
in good time, saved others by foreboding's glory's grace.
No omen had risen from the awkwardness and table clutter
of diplomacy's cutlery and negotiation's enabling lies to face
to face, some oceans over, the assumptions' wide subvocal mutter
unnoticed, and without bearing regardless, the floor unknown in any case.
What seemed inevitability in approach stepped off all sense,
and found no sense, and had no story after, no life in words
such as we lived and will live, such as a single lifetime lends
to living, then and then and now just stopped, and nothing towards.
We do not know how the tower of Babel fell, what piled it down,
sowed confusion of tongue among all witnesses, blighted all
with estrangement, sent each to their own understanding and separate town
with a story, a story of an old God and a new building, untellable.
Words fail the blow of the old hammer anyway, fail the split of ways,
and these the common words. New redundancies of incomprehension
a teller's slight of mind, a show of what it is to live through days
of talking as anyone does all day any day now, and after one stroke never again.
The God's eye CAT scan view shows only, at first, a small blurred patch
where the little void began: the missed step, the puzzled grope,
the sudden bloom of almost fear, throat's almost mild panic's catch
at what had always been and walled and routed, what had no need of hope
but founded other's, braced the outward lean. And they say that little blur
marks nothing fell itself - a burst and bleed soon caught, the wound a nick -
but what has pulled the pin on desperation, pronounced what sending will echo sure
and avalanche in damage; make of skill and story rubble, storied tower broken brick.