Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Crisp Counterpoint.

I crisp at the juxtaposition, the sile banality of it.
How fare you in this ill wind my guest,
these times of ardour and feigned despair
when our souls drag behind us grasping for peace
but are cast aside like Anne Altman's summer wardrobe.

Ah, the music shall free us, and lease our minds to the clouds soaring above the melee, but, but for time of little measure.

Render the memory of it.
Knead it with sweaty palms, taste it.

For when we clamber back into this electro-forsaken reality,
and cry out at the utter futility of the thousand silicon arrows
that descend upon us.

We are lost.

On this battlefield we call work, We are all lost.


Blogger Identity Crisis said...

Time not tomorrow and time not yesterday
But some time
after the needing and kneading
of sweaty palms
an answer will unfurl
like feathers iridescent and uplifting
and we shall find ourselves
not lost
but once again soaring
above the melee
and beyond the battle
and it will not suck
so bad.

12:18 AM  
Blogger Sans Pantaloons said...

Identity; In defeat as in life, I thank you.

6:40 AM  
Blogger Identity Crisis said...

Not a problem. Anytime you need trite philosophy and bad poetry...I'm here. ;]

12:23 PM  
Blogger anne altman said...

my summer wardrobe sucked this year. nobody missed anything.

1:49 PM  
Blogger Cheer34 said...

who is the muscle man in the pic?

5:36 PM  
Blogger Sans Pantaloons said...

Identity, that is comforting to know.

Anne, you are a class act!

Cheer, the bronze is an allegorical figure of 'War' seated at the east face pedestal, of the Monument to Earl Roberts of Kandahar in Kelvingrove Park Glasgow.

7:34 PM  
Blogger anne altman said...

a class act in crappy clothes. it's possible to pull off.

12:19 AM  
Blogger Sans Pantaloons said...

Anne, is that an invitation?

4:17 AM  

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