real time

in "real time"

i'm 24--

it's winter

(New Year's Eve)

but, feel Rhyme

find Nevermore--

Remember

(Eternity)

if i can write in Rising meter

--Dickinson-inspired--

maybe we, through Poetry  

(that transcendental Liar),

can break the shackles of the Clock

& Rise in timeless Bliss--

above the Paradox of life,

& out of "That" and "This"--

("The day is made of many days"

Neruda writes in "Time"

--indeed, it seems i know what he means--

in heart, if not in mind)

i see the clock--

12:21

& then 12:22--

on my computer screen

as i

compose this verse

for you--

& soon enough,

12:23

arrives to take its place,

& by the time i write that line,

12:24 replaces it!

i take a break to pee & think,

& 5 whole minutes fly--

& during those 5 minutes,

i must wonder -- where was i?

in Mexico--

in Outer Space--

Chicago,

in my room--

at Native Foods

with you, my friend,

discussing power’s Doom--

& how, we say, a Brand New Day

is waiting to come in--

(i hear it Knocking softly Now

upon the hearts of men--)

& that to Hope is no small thing

--& no mere fool’s Dream--

but rather, just to thankfully

acknowledge Time's great Scheme--

for what are we but chemicals

& atoms, after all?

set into motion by a Bang

--so infinitely small--

& yet, our small parts equally

complete this greatest Story--

& through our lives, though short, we strive--

revealing its true Glory--

the Poet, & the Coffee-Shop,

the Mother nursing Child--

through all of them the Universe

is working, is compiled

day by day, & year by year,

minute by small minute--

century by century,

of every small Thing in it

--the snow on the magnolia tree

is beautiful & still--

the world is cold,

the Tree is old,

outside my windowsill--

Tomorrow starts a whole New Year

--quite arbitrarily--

& yet, it seems significant--

Revolutionary, even.