Saturday, January 3, 2009

152. MEZODOMAIN

MEZODOMAIN
The bleak stalwarts deal with the bleak;
see how many glumly cross over that bridge.
Beneath their feet there are layered bones of
dinosaurs and the fossilized remains of things like
dreams and emanations : those powerful fogs of
other places we vaguely see as they are carried with us.
Not realizing intent, these dark connoisseurs of placement
and vantage point simply stare ahead - missing everything
peripheral to them. So does a certain form of history pass.
-
We are members of a dwindling club : things which die like the
light at evening, the sun at its daily parting, the 10am puddle
that is gone by 2. Mesmerizing laces entwine everything we
see - in the power to source us back to an origin, it has its
most brute strength and its moment of quick glory.
-
The inscription on that golden rock alongside the lake,
it reads : 'Everything that lives must die; all things
which die shall live again. So the ages decree.
Mankind can only acquiesce.'

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