BRIEF GAUDY HOUR As we leave eternity behind us, living only for the moment, the future becomes tangible, all the mystery is past. The seasons are trapped in their gardens & History grows on trees. The battlefield is strewn with little farms bought by the loyal & patriotic. In the hills the renegades plot their retreat. Undefeated, they withdraw, secure in the knowledge of their own mortality, while the armies of authority lay down their laws, their arms, then their souls at the feet of Time, the new dictator. There is no moment that is not filled with all moments, pure information that blocks all that negative speculation leaving only poetry & hand signals, unilateral passages, no second guesses, insurance against the Millenium. Having never arrived, we assumed there was no place to go, so we stayed.
|The East Village Poetry Web