WEBVTT

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It's another attempt
at non-ideology.

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Because I feel it's
as Ponce de Leon,

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as I imagine Ponce de Leon
find-- he doesn't find water,

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he doesn't find the elixir, and
he doesn't become a young man

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again.

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But he does find
something more valuable,

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which is almost a cliche
at the end of the poem,

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but it has to be
stated that way.

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This is what he finds.

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And hopefully we could all
find as he's trouncing around

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with machete in the
jungle, and his crazy guide

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looking for the fountain
of youth, Ponce de Leon.

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"Not so much by age, but the
deliberate hardening of mind

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turns us towards the grave.

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It need not always
be written this way,

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barring a climactic
dryness in the plot,

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a spring ripples to the
eyes, the throat parches,

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trouble inside the
head points dusty boots

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in the wrong direction.

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Sweat salted his armor,
mosquitoes sucked his juices.

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Tolerant with the half
benign smile of a martyr,

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he allowed the
landscape, the sun,

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the switches to exact
their tides from his flesh,

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his blood.

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Like any Judas and
Jesus, the guide

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smiled then took the silver.

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He knew the inside track, how
to lead a fanatic in circles

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by plotting straight.

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If he were to receive
the sacrament ever,

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that day in the sea of
jungle was not his day.

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In the desperation of his
beard, dismissing the guide,

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he suffered the cruel
shovel of his beard.

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Alone with the heat,
mosquitoes, squawking parrots,

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he began burrowing hunter and
the haunted beyond dreams.

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With solid ground, he
was really always after."

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