let me put it this way
the procession always leads back
to the door of the church
and that will be the same matter
concerning your lapses with Gale
you are, for the meantime in the arms
of another
and he also in the arms of some
rumors
but soon these arms become numb
and the feet shall march back to where you
first started, the shoes fit again,
and both of you, embarrassed
with what your final words deny
back into each others' arms we
close our eyes
do not mind us
our hearts rejoice
to see love once again sprouting...
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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