A Mimeograph

A Mimeograph

Fog and rain and the memory of a cat--
The present is nothing but a screen;
An infinite space for a finite dream--
Arbitrary morphing of moments
Marked by edges melting--
Nothing stays in place;
 Insane desires edging out  time
and occupying the space as if space, not time is the ever-present reality, mocking and miming
the awesomeness of eternity.

A bowl of potion
held out by a hand
and whisked away before being possessed and claimed.

Meme is truly the sign of this age--
the life that vanishes before its shadow can touch
the threshold of the heart.

The knowledge of ecstasy stays confined
to the love we watch
being made to violins and guitars and the drums--
The silence of the finale hardly survives the chorus of applause--

that moment of eureka that is forbidden to become
the trance that was meant to seal in silence the rapture of love.

A cave--a cave is where the soul lives; watching the play of shadow on the wall.
Let me wrap my rugs around and sleep
leaving the rest of the world to work out the mystery of space and
time while I work out mine own.