Barry McKinnon

was the word scribbled, live or die? the hand 
writing, unclear.  but no context equal to the intelligence

or the opposite - to see that upper path, spacious
species, trees.

heart beat in infinite sense of unknowing - time in life to death
is timeless, yet exists without mind or speech

our inability, even to the silence, measured
like a thing proclaimed, yet its essence elusive but for what
human thought contain - itself, itself, it

a watch strap around wrists of any future
you can see. oh, here, unfulfilled - notes on a scribbled pad, 
hopeless, tho love abounds - helpless in its

face ( eternity

or other symptoms, the eyes sense, out of whack, or all not
there, tho it's there.   can you get back?  or know
what was different than an eternal   shifting present.

The East Village Poetry Web