Hanging upon every word
is
another and then
another
after that
until
there is a grand scheme
of
is.
The
past has dalliance
with
the future
through
the intercourse of now
in
these hanging, looping
bits
of slipstream time,
a
curious scaffolding,
a
rolling patchwork quilt
made
for Einstein
and
his bending and folding,
the
continuum for our kind
that
must, like a trapeze artist,
grab
hold and swing
you
and me
from
one minute
to
the next.
There
is no beginning.
There
is no end.
We
are spliced
into
cunning creation
for
a limited Broadway run
when
we step upon the stage
to
recite a line or two of text.
~William Hammett
Site Map
No comments:
Post a Comment