TO PROVE THE RATIONALS ARE DENSE IN R
Many of us await the crescent moons
Of August, through October, in between
Those struggles to redeem a sense of shame
At not having lived fully, morally.
It’s like you had an argument with God
And lost. The buzzing of a Piper Cub
Over the olive orchard, and your dreams
Are dust. My struggle with the fruit flies leaves
Me breathless, but not yet devoid of hope
The rains of late October will begin
A new era of solvency and birds
Like birds of Paradise, but subtler still
Borne on cool winds off the Pacific, high
Enough to clear the treetops, but not too.
As I was reading in The Book of Tea,
It came to me, building the time machine—
While not a waste of time, exactly—was
Beyond my powers, although there was still time
To redesign the thing, wandering around
In that time that remained, the cloudy now
Of early autumn. —The mental machine
Of evening seizing up, we’re on the loose—
Fueled by a web-based sadness. Razzmatazz
Sloshing like strong drink around the brainpans
Of solid citizens. Are we the last
But one, among the many, to construe
Our Age as limiting, while sweet things size
The rivals up, the stars glittering sky?
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