more can be said

It’s all very good that
The audience has
filled their seats
now lets get
the fire exits
I don’t know what
To call my piece
I do a little bit of acting
With some amount
Of story telling
But there is always
Somebody yelling
At the end of it
And some that want to
Leave early

Dreams
Luxuriant curly
Of the fineness
Of golden fleece
As I had once in
Ancient greece
And now a
Shepherd in
A purple mist
In the arbour on
My hands and
Knees in divine
Languor praising
The freedom of
son and sheep


Of course thinking is something vital. But how can one not have a doubt about it. I think therefore I am redux says the thinker is feeling tired and even that is nothing new. If the Hegelian triad of thesis, antitheses and synthesis is true, and we now have enough to safely assume it not to be so, then thought is but a petitioner in one of our dozens of sarkari daftars, getting a form, getting it attested and submitting it only to be handed a fresh form. Marx couldn’t have been more pertinent with his opinion that philosophy has done with interpreting the world; that at any rate the greater imperative is to ultimately change it. However, all the while everyone who was in search of an answer was aiming at a state of affairs that would negate the need for change — so yes it seems that we are looking for peace collectively. An equilibrium that is an idyll but which cannot be compared to a pause.
Thought is good if it be the eyes that can see the bend in the road. As an inclination to change gears it is certainly a drive that prefers an empty wide road shooting off into the horizon, gently rising in the distance. I think that if we could see that bend far ahead we would see that it is really a great circle the road we’re on. Then I think it would seem clever to pull up by some preferred spot, get out, stretch our muscles and, if one is too ambitious, even string up a hammock and guide the passerby.




boeing moll jankovich

I’ll name my plane
Something crazy
Maybe adam of
Applegate or
The chengis of
Gourmet maybe
After some bird
If not some mighty
Beast of the veld
Its essence captured
In a word or epithet
I’ll roam the skies freely
I will give up my name