if time can only be cupped by hands
i would like it to be solid
rock, i will hold it, and sculpt it
like the way they,
artists, enter eternity, through
the door of things,
but time is not solid, it is liquefied gas
you breathe it and then
it exhales upon all the holes of
our emptied beings
These are poetic experiments. Man's quest for the poetic element never ceases. He is always caught in the eye of awe. He does not make the rules now. The rules change depending on the emotion that time and space feed him. He must see everything with his wide eyes gaping. The beginning of poetry too, like philosophy is wonder. Look and see. Do not stop wondering You are the poet. And everything is poetry. Wonder. Wander.
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