'"People need to be able to waste time, make time, lose time and buy time. This will be our major task."'
"The only real thing in his life was his dreams."
The transparently slow moon
Climbs, apparently. The deep,
Indeed, the no-such-thing-as,
Truth itself, climbs from the depths
Of the dry, abandoned well,
Long black hair glossy with wet,
And cries like a cicada
From impossible delight,
Discovering everything
At risk must be surrendered
Just as the long years buried
Give way to blinding-bright night.
I have expended my life
On life's continuity
Only to break clear of it,
My alien, imported,
All-important, borrowed self,
My curved moon honed like a knife.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.