I felt the year pass - November to November - I didn't wait long before it hit me - eyes are no good for telling time, but watching it go, and there is no need for feet when the world keeps spinning. Instead, a firm grip. We make plans, don't we. We settle for less 'cause we never settle down. Reach as far as elbows, complain about the hardships, but it's real, isn't it? We make things happen. We travel great distances. We speak to Chinese, but they haven't got a clue, fluent as their english; they'll never get drunk like me. And we do more things. We list all the things we do - pound our chests too much. Where is my frying pan and when will it pummel me? These things don't exist. Communism's for the people. Capitalism's for the people. Entropy, the great leader, follows nobody into a black hole. Entropy, the lone particle, carves away at new atmospheres. This wide space, tell me, who is it for? A couple hundred people, and we their neighbors, looking on, questioning, but holding fast our tongues because our forts, smaller, dilapidated, are ours in theory. And this is good enough. This will keep us occupied until supper time. A thick fog passes. The wide bulge of earth whistles like a kettle... Eleven years past the millennium, we wait for someone to move.
Going to tell it like it is.. Just saw this. I had a gummie earlier and so can you imagine the mind blow? The art, and then the poem…… I’ll have to read it again tomorrow. Thanks Fletcher.