The View from Mt. Forgotten
Charles Potts, his anti-government blood
Does not hold his breath for the center to hold.
He unleashes an Edgeman’s song —
Rises at five to consider the sun,
Robs himself blind while he naps,
Retraces his own lost interiors
For names washed away on old maps.
Climbs Mt. Forgotten to drop death a line,
Family and weather permitting,
Misfiles the time he’s making up for,
Daydreams a book in one sitting.
Generations strong, anti-government blood
Runs through Potts River, his veins
Transmit their Edgeman’s cry in the key
Of What thou lovest well remains . . .