Tag: Sonnet

There might be time to know where the time goes
likely it will not be in this lifetime
too many minutes to accumulate
preceded by hours decades months days years
seconds are the only response to sweets
worth taking into account or measure
abundance of molecules on the way
to their dissolution insoluble 
energy neither created destroyed
by looking what might be the other way
universe ever expands to a point
in the distant past shared distinct by all
a spark the only light a burning flame
continues to kindle forgets its name

How fortunate to have a record of
these days I thought would never come again
and true to form they haven’t at least not
in nonverbal shapes the way a guitar
enables chords to ring out of thin air
disturbed by these vibrations static clay 
responds by taking on a resemblance
eventually out of the motion
it is easy to figure takes place once
only the universe begs to differ
these brief moments important years your life
written in permanent ink on the skin
the thin membrane that makes the past present
particulars turn the same different

Falling over boxes in the basement
placed strategically badly in my dreams
where all the stuff seems to accumulate
in anticipation of later points
heretofore unforeseen for a short time
wait awhile until the next dream appears
what other synapse will my unconscious
choose to pursue to no immediate
avail except the true recognition
the mind seems to live without consciousness 
grasping onto what might be familiar 
for awhile until it is forgotten 
only to bring it back for a moment
you are not even awake to know it

Reading about the renewed earth that will 
be our home after a temporary
soul sleep in heaven which might be nothing
I remember experiencing void
a symptom of mind in the wilderness
as well as jubilee parade we join
when the earth goes spinning into the sun
some say it’s irresponsible to bring
further broken beings into the world
such as it is which must surely be doomed
but if eternity is all the time
what better way to show a sign of love
but child eyes blinking awake to faces
lonely homes are only lacking places

How to arrange these shelves with what will be
phases of what will be the distant past 
books I have not got around to will not
get around to reading until forgot
a receipt in the front leaf was acquired 
recently only twenty years ago
pages still unread pages not yet read
spines stacked together side by side alone
alphabetized by habit of habit
also known as lexicographical
lethargy the entropy of reading 
between the years that I believe exist
and have existed at least from the start
words spoke out of nothing not kept apart

It might be appropriate 
to label the day’s proceedings
with the proverbial spoiler alert

as if the game had not already
been given away in a thousand
or so repeated tellings times two

to go from triumph to triumph
without the dark gash in between
might be too much to bear

better to exit in silence exultant 
knowing the already is not yet
some leaves of the story left

languished on the ground
prepared to be turned to ash again

What else could deliver life
but this thin membrane
a matter of centimeters
managing pleasure from pain

skin to skin a bond from age
to age wrapping monuments
in protective plastic sheaths
unexploded shells a few feet

from habitable domiciles
nowhere else to turn but sky
closing all alternatives against
flesh and bone standing firm

a thorn piercing the stiffened side
beasts born with luck a rough ride

There is never 
enough room
to make space
for more room

merely to move
one object from
one place 
to another

is insufficient
you must try
to obliterate
all sense of

proportion
new rooms need motion