CARBON
Within this world of fabric and flounce,
Carbon seems the unity of all things : that
factor which somehow makes us one. The
unavoidable trench 'cross which each body
must past. A strange, unrecognizable music
playing from some hidden source, the tune
makes its rounds past kith and kin, the dead
and the living, whatever the squandered intent
of that unpaid-for digging along which we wander.
What is meant? And how is it sent? We just don't
know - yet, as one, we pretend to imagine the
captain's orders have some sort of reason,
some sort of bent. It gives us a momentum,
as we continue trudging along, seeking the
paths for which we think w are meant.
paths for which we think w are meant.
No comments:
Post a Comment