Saturday, January 31, 2015

Pushing Mute


This dream of reality eludes
If we are fair. We measure
Ourselves against each other’s
Awareness then rear up
And howl that we know
All that there is and will
Be; yet when we are old

With hubris hidden away
Like something forgotten
In the pocket of a coat
We feel a knobby nudge,
The catch in the throat,
The blinking of our eyes
At the passing image that

Is nothing at all.  What then
At such a day’s end?  Shall we
Hunker down, watch and wait?
If so, what of the man who raised himself
So long ago and sought to know it all?
He is down the hall at his desk tinkering
With a few words before his morning nap.

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