“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
A-part of some-thing
As though we needed to be told
-a-gain-
As if it were common
to occur
-again-
As it had been shown, all-
ready through
peopled holes-where keys go-
-inside-
These-black holes-out of space
and time constraint, locked
in-side-eternity
carrying more nothing
than you have seen
before.
Memory serves experience,
and kneels-
As though we've demanded
reverence, deliverance, pittance, per-
chance for-getting minute (s)paces
that take Us-
off tracks, on trips and
slips through slick perception
again, inside, before,
it occurs, as though suddenly
standing still under falling stars-
as if-then
you remember
Being-There.
You are merely a part of nature;
You are not altogether
apart from nature.
Everything was bound
to occur
any-way, naturally.
As though we needed to re-
member.
Image of painting by Theodore Clement Steele, c. 1887 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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