When they ask of Life,
What will I say?
Can I describe time that swirls,
Flits with fickle castanets,
And disappears?
A shrinking, self-swallowing serpent?
Sometimes in spring
When ropes with eyes
Fly to heads and heels
The smokey celebration of
Surviving another winter
Buys the seven-way and Bud
Dusty faces crack from laughing
Bloody hands pass Copenhagen
Back and forth
No furtive glances hopefully
Caress snowless ridges
Today
The future is studiously ignored
For the intensity of
Now
Ground crew limps - unnoticed
Tomorrow's hips and rope-arm
Shoulders
Get no second
Thought
If
By God
We are a primitive
Futureless Band
At least we avoid
That flatland
Urban trap
Of measuring life
With
Time
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