I arrived today, warm headed, stripped of leisure and time
anxious for the evening sky, settling on my mind
Abruptly, on a sign I saw mine,
my train, on eleven and ten, I said I'd better get
to it then
The wheels were screeching as I opened the lock
After a short, small, subtle pause of headbrawl
where nobody conquered
I stretched through the small of my mind
- and across river Time -
not to London, no, but home;
where the sky throbs, three-headed
dropping its open jaw across Europe
where the spasms grow and thrive
and are no longer periodical nor measurable
where atoms die and atoms get hungry
and I shovel a gram of 'em in a plastic bag
where it is simply not the case
that fingers are pointed but that people are pointing
And speaking of this, I remember
when I threw smalltown OD at you
and tried and squabbled about to the authors
and rapped and rapped on many 'a doors but
poets do not have doors,
it is simply not the case.
the children go online and see
snippets of philosophy