THE AGE OF AQUARIUMS
At each end of the great world,
in each direction, there is fatigue.
I met Christopher Columbus and he
said that to me - likewise Vasco DeGama
and Magellan too - each of them told me:
in every direction, fatigue, and a tired old end.
A world of edges and flotsam on the sea:
broken things, hanging over the end, fat sea-mammals
gurgling as they die, bereft of both water and air.
Piles of coral, as sharp as daggers, cut the world
with Creation's original intention - to tear apart,
to rip asunder, to stab and hurt and maim.
Like old ladies on their way to Sag Harbor
(why not, where they belong?) the endings of
time and being show the hand of their despair.
"I am tired of this queer life. It is weary, here.'
-
Through the sky, a comet whizzes.
From some far and distant celestial
port, a line of dazzling light sizzles above,
coming down eventually, to crash even itself
over the edge of this vast yet dissolving place.
At each end of the great world,
in each direction, there is fatigue.
I met Christopher Columbus and he
said that to me - likewise Vasco DeGama
and Magellan too - each of them told me:
in every direction, fatigue, and a tired old end.
A world of edges and flotsam on the sea:
broken things, hanging over the end, fat sea-mammals
gurgling as they die, bereft of both water and air.
Piles of coral, as sharp as daggers, cut the world
with Creation's original intention - to tear apart,
to rip asunder, to stab and hurt and maim.
Like old ladies on their way to Sag Harbor
(why not, where they belong?) the endings of
time and being show the hand of their despair.
"I am tired of this queer life. It is weary, here.'
-
Through the sky, a comet whizzes.
From some far and distant celestial
port, a line of dazzling light sizzles above,
coming down eventually, to crash even itself
over the edge of this vast yet dissolving place.
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