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.
