If it is proper to speak of an eternity for anything,
--And it is, I think--
Then I would bet it's like
Looking out across a cold pond.
More like this than like some mountains.
The only foundation of permanence is,
Probably, that stuff has to be forgotten.
--What color trash, wrappers near the road.
Totally pleasant yellow grass wet in the sun.
--Yeah but who fuckin knows.
The only question is, Does it make sense at last,
The wholesomeness offered in nature but withheld.
The scum all over everything.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment