In the last and abstract hour
Of daylight,
She gazes
the sudden flight,
the fragile balance
between the different and the same,
of the multitudinous bird.
And thinks
in these brief
shared lightnings
we reach transcendence.
And that is all.
Time does not march on
it sneaks out the back door
to have a smoke
its tobacco is what’s what
and who you know
its nicotine is
your addiction to meaning
and it is killing you
so you really should stop
driving yourself crazy
worrying about how
you just lost another
twenty-four-hour friend
and instead concentrate on making
peace with your poor concentration
and rich imagination
and take the good with the bad
mix it with the tolerable
and when life
gives you lemons
remember that in the infinite
a pucker is born
every minute
More at http://www.ivanjenson.com/.
it only stops making sense
if you stop to analyze it all
and find the hidden answers
inside your cracker jack box
and use the lottery numbers
written in the fortune cookie
keep your hand on the throttle
keep your eyes upon the rail
you’ll know the run’s successful
when you reach the end of the line
it just stands to reason
honesty is outa season