ELEGY IN A
CONCRETE GRAVEYARD
My name isn't written in the past -
neither is it written in the future.
I am enmeshed you see in a present
of sorts : one amazing tranquility, of
prospects and dreams quickly going
down the drain. Trying to sketch a
perfect bluebird, I end up with a
terrifying hawk. Water, flowing softly
beneath the petals, rushes suddenly to
a new torrent and buckles the pavement
upon which I stand. It is all so incongruously
true that it must be taken as fact. It
gets (simply) no simpler then that.
-
If you pass my grave in your wandering,
please think, perhaps, to tip your hat.
CONCRETE GRAVEYARD
My name isn't written in the past -
neither is it written in the future.
I am enmeshed you see in a present
of sorts : one amazing tranquility, of
prospects and dreams quickly going
down the drain. Trying to sketch a
perfect bluebird, I end up with a
terrifying hawk. Water, flowing softly
beneath the petals, rushes suddenly to
a new torrent and buckles the pavement
upon which I stand. It is all so incongruously
true that it must be taken as fact. It
gets (simply) no simpler then that.
-
If you pass my grave in your wandering,
please think, perhaps, to tip your hat.
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