Thursday, September 16, 2010
Pay day, same day.
Waiting for the ball to drop.
Sounds cascade like a too well ordered waterfall.
the City sounds.
Cars and monkeys driving wheels.
All wheel with daily rotating of the sky.
Rushing into the East, over another 24 hours of Earth.
One shouldn’t complain.
We are not scratching in the dirt for our sustenance.
At least not too much,
Only at the gardener’s choice of pain and derision.
The cats actually sit quietly;
even though the little snakes are known to be lurking
beneath leaf and bramble.
A moment alone, away and with the gracious bleed of ink.
Burning off the mind’s chiding through finger tips,
through the familiar twitching upon this papier.
It’s about now.
It’s about then, when the ball drops.
Yet another move in this kinetic opera,
this furious fairy called Time.
As the light pours its last upon fading eyes,
the meat is neat and unaware.
Who could ask more of eternity.
I know the secret, and forget it often.
Meatness makes it that way.
And yet it is difficult to remember
all these faces around that abound are
real worlds in themselves, alone and questing
their singular quests, as we each do.
Too many minds unconnected, needing silly books of smiles
to touch and compare compassions.
Do you like it.
And I’m glad for wife and glad for growth.
Glad for death and give a happy nod to Winter.
Stasis is death.
To know death Rushes is to know life perserves.
Organic, carbon-based life has struggled
for so long;
solving the puzzles of the universe.
We are the livers, the processors of the inantimate,
into a questing, zealing, revealing, concealing,
into a Question, held and wondered upon,
held to the light of a deep woods fire,
held and shared for desperation,
across miles and generations.
We live to live,
to give a name too simple for all this Chaos,
and so name ourselves.
So dig it, you get it,
by just not accepting what is.
This is the final and first secret.