KeeperS: 291. Cadence. *** I thought of pristine moments like this one As cages Each one of them clearly defined by the situation before it And the consequences afterward.
Each memory boxed up, But still pristine of itself. Deviation seemed the wrong word anyway The way it rolls off the tongue Half a syllable caught in the apex of time.
Max Weber probably understood The desire in each of the boxes. Can I own you, dear, are you mine to keep on a shelf I can return to you in perfect condition just after the lapse Of your appreciation of all the achievements Wrapped up in this…
The reality was as pristine as the bullet from the shots a man fired with my name on them.
I’d wondered if the devil had come by any other name With a heart like a butterfly net Weber’s submission to the difference between wants and needs. I wonder if she’d written it for him.
Wisdom I’d reflected on In humble moments from the same row of homes Between the want in each shiny perfect glimmer And the gray lump of lead at velocity.
I wondered what one moment was worth Then I kissed her.
To some, it was maybe the difference between shamrocks and clover. To me it was the way it always works out, In the rhythm of time With our dreams arranged in the cadence of the distant drummer.
***
I thought of pristine moments like this one
As cages
Each one of them clearly defined by the situation before it
And the consequences afterward.
Each memory boxed up,
But still pristine of itself.
Deviation seemed the wrong word anyway
The way it rolls off the tongue
Half a syllable caught in the apex of time.
Max Weber probably understood
The desire in each of the boxes.
Can I own you, dear, are you mine to keep on a shelf
I can return to you in perfect condition just after the lapse
Of your appreciation of all the achievements
Wrapped up in this…
The reality was as pristine as the bullet from the shots a man fired
with my name on them.
I’d wondered if the devil had come by any other name
With a heart like a butterfly net
Weber’s submission to the difference between wants and needs.
I wonder if she’d written it for him.
Wisdom I’d reflected on
In humble moments from the same row of homes
Between the want in each shiny perfect glimmer
And the gray lump of lead at velocity.
I wondered what one moment was worth
Then I kissed her.
To some, it was maybe the difference between shamrocks and clover.
To me it was the way it always works out,
In the rhythm of time
With our dreams arranged in the cadence of
the distant drummer.