No path, nor romantic poet's winding stair,
just festering slope down to where
the tottering piles and pyres
and lakes of noxious slime
pooling in desert
will shortly be – and there
in due or undue course
forget forgetting, forgo forgoing,
deny denying,
and, staggering past the treadless tyres,
and the endless slashing, mowing,
follow the faded peach-petals (plastic)
up the sewer of night fantastic
back to the whining end of amputated time.
1 comment:
There is mathematical time (we live in) but time is a duration. Probably this human invention was to make things not fall all at once. They still do fall all at once. As Lithuanian proverb says that the Trouble never walks alone.
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