MIND IS A
MATTER OF TIME
(and since when is that)
An exquisite debunking of everything
goes : wash the walls with new water,
strip those same walls of old paint.
There is a leaflet in the baggage of
thrown-out words; somewhere, in
that trash, it is hidden.
Bring forth the furlongs of this
distance-race; let the rattled bones
ring as they cross their finish. There's
a man in the harbor, waving at something.
His curse is the curse of all things.
Mind is a matter of time, I am sure.
A perplexity assured of the running.
Huff, huff, the breathing will come,
Fast, and furious, as mind is the
matter of becoming. Let us spurt,
then, our growth to the finish.