6 sept. 2010

The Last Pages of the Next Notebook

Here I felt time slower

Here I felt it faster

Where I felt it not at all:
A distant shore,
A wing-beat in my hand
A mind-consuming cackle back on land.

Poetry's rythm speaks
Quality of time
Life's sail's aspiration is to stay
On course a relative river that forgets
How long it stood or stared at what
Because it steals the sailor away.

But with our feet on the ground
Realistically we'd storytell:
Saying not what we saw, felt, did
But how we jumped or hid,
What time was like,
As when we dream and,
Fast on the bed,
Time takes us for a ride.

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