I tell you, Gus, there's just one way <br />to skin a monkey, snake or frog <br />and don't let the buggers tell you <br />any different. You take your knife <br />or Occam's razor, whet its edge, <br />then do the job. Where trouble comes <br />is what to do when you run across <br />clear evidence your snake, frog, monkey, shrew <br />holds title to a soul like yours. Quite startling <br />first time you bump your nose on one <br />in a place you thought unlikely. Sure enough <br />it's white as yours, black as mine, gray <br />as souls can get with use - but just the barest <br />shreds are there, the soul having fled its anchorage - <br />and that's the tick of time you're glad <br />the kill was made before you arrived. So, look <br />to see your knife is sharp, untarnished <br />by the tide of events and finish, <br />but never tell a soul of this - for after all, <br />if told by another, would you believe? <br />Would you believe you? Meanwhile the soul <br />whose shreds you saw, has floated free <br />and steers toward the great, assembled armada <br />beside the shores of an ocean <br />we, as well, in time may see <br />- to sail again some elemental morning.<br /><br />Brian Purdy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-tell-you-gus/
