Avalanche Poem by Mark Heathcote

What door is there left to open?
That isn't already a revolving momentum.
From the peak of a mountaintop
To that ravine avalanche white and fearsome
Is there no flowing backward?
Salmon are spawning in a mountainous canyon.
Their deaths open the tear ducts of the Jordon-
From the Sea of Galilee, they're climbing upwards-
Now, what do their deaths billiard games deliver us?
So it's a rite of passage.
The boy becomes a man, a son-a-husband, a father.
But how does it get us past this uncooperative verbiage?
Does it even bring us any bit closer?
Climbing from the seat of your sofa, hopelessly waiting
It's kissing. Does it bring us any bit closer to one another?
Entering the afterlife; back through walls of a vagina...