MAN THE WORD

What is man? It is not the man that walks on two legs, spanning and striding the world like an old navigation compass sprawling and marking and making itself master of the map there where it does its measuring dance. I speak of the word, MAN, a single syllable flashing like a bolt from Zeus's static, Olympian throne. Hot air. Phonemes. Letters. Ink sullying parchment or paper time and time ag- ain, a term exhausting itself until it loses all meaning and must find it again. Maybe the word doeshave something in common with you and I, brother. For the word and the horizon we scan our eyes while they still serve us in our searching youth for what it's all about, for where we are, for what. It seems everyone, under the M-A-N banner or not would seek to define the truth of these three meager letters. Man is this. Man is that. A man needs a woman, to provide, a family, riches, a jaunty smile and carved muscles of oaken bark. A man doesn't this and a man knows that and you're not a man you're not man enough for me you're just a boy--I was once. Maybe I still am inside. What ritual tells when that adolescent river has been passed into the harsh land of wailing sand and time that we are asked to savor the brunt of until we're dead. Who can truely say. You look like something greater than three letters to me, my friend, so cheers to that my fire brazen friend!