Friday, February 27, 2009

247. THE NEW ANATOMY

THE NEW ANATOMY
As life was long ago - the shallowness of the swamp,
the dense underbrush of marsh grass and the bog; all
those little things creeping around - so too now are my
own moments in the sun. I try to shield my eyes from
anything I configure as 'too much', but it doesn't
often work.
-
My hands have withheld the storms that time brought;
sensible things, tamed as lions in a zoo are tamed. Almost,
but not always; brought back from the brink, but not quite.
It's a shameless compromise really : how we deliver
our own time to the ages we inhabit; living in a sequence
really little understood. There are no headlines about
this stuff. It all rather just 'is'.
-
We accept that enrichment, taking the crown as
proffered. We are, after all, high Mankind - and
nothing more than us has ever existed. The linear
plane above our brow - that place where all these
brains are - that's the horizon sign within us
we never see. The most simple place,
which we always miss.

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