It’s Time

 
We try numerous ways
to wrap our verbal minds around it:
that which even the muse of annihilation
cannot conceive arises now as the reflection
of itself, revolves, moon-like, in mysterious orbit
around the dark matter which witnesses indifferently
all such transparently imaginary displays, itself already
melting into the unknown, unseen source of its own
altitude, already cavalcading in a fine romance of
lyrical logs which burst into wordless blossoms
of light, right on schedule, and in lieu of such
magnificent rhapsodies, such grand rafts
of echoing suchness, even the demon
of poetry, that clown, realizes
it’s time to close up shop.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s