CONTEMPLATION
I have found Nothing. It has reached surpassing,
and all other things pale : a bright vase, refracting
a purple hue across the white wall - for nothing
and useless as all. The first warm day of something,
I see a funny-looking guy bending over his car with
a sponge and a pail, while his hose nearby wails.
Water streams, and I think of lies and fabrication,
how they too spread from pavement to dawn.
Knowing it's all the same, I end the finish and
set it down. There is no lark in this willow, and
this willow in fact is still dead; or dormant anyway
from a Winter's misery plant. Like a miser plants,
that's misery. All ideas and contemplation.
-
Not so long ago it was a new year, and in the
freeze cold people yelled and got drunk, spitting
forth firecrackers and obscenities at will and their
own urgings. It was cold and it was dark. Now it
is light and it is warm. A contemplation then, of
continuity, must suffice. I am not the one here
to eat ice.
-
Spell me out, wise-man, carrot-nose, tophat-guy,
snowman who melts and is now gone. I remember
you. Treacherous, and there were more than one.
No pages are catalogued to keep you in place,
and people's memories fade. You were there, and
another was there; coal eyes, and a scarf for a week.
It's almost funny, this thought and contemplation.
-
As it seems to go : all things are all things,
and this contemplation makes a moment
somehow stay : fracas, tumult, calm, peace.
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