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Saturday, March 12, 2011

To Rush the Death of Ideas: its Day CLothes or Night Apparel?

Running between thought and paper,
An Idea and its Day clothes
Or Night apparel, no Matter. My lines
Seem unblessed with beauty
And more a Tool which not being a Tool
but an Instrument, Verse.

Arriving at You!
What are you?
And of what Made?
If not Words (no, not Words!)
but of Action ever Restless
Unstill with its Before and Ever After…

A Person who beholds a Ventricle,
a Tube, a Conductor, a Wire….

Present-Times: what else do you Think
You have been Wishing Upon a Star?
AN End? And End-Times?

Yet more Credible than Ever
The Knowers, Experts, and Wise of Alibi

To Host and to Hearten Death of Ideas
without Heart that might Procure Vision.
Inadequates at Love, why Live On, Humanish?

A Race, a Creed, a Way, a Lie to Believe Life Exists?
Life Needs Explanation? Life Needs to Caution,
create Caveats, and Excuses?

Ah, that’s our Job, we Cynical Authors,
Hemingfolk, Shipwrecked and still Seeking Adventure!

For Sheer lust of it, Doc Williams

This Sonnet is a Fictional Work. Any perceived, apparent, or implied relationship to entities or persons is coincidental.

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