“I Do Not Own the Day”
I do not own the day;
What lights I see are always there
And even in the darkest night, the glare
Of redundancy reigns like lightning strikes in everlasting reason. Some say
I’ve signed the lease and now they own the night.
True enough, they see their own reflection
In the briefest prayer and genuflection
To the idylls and the idols of their transcendental rites.
Stalagmites seek stalactites; weighty particles in flight
As shadows formed of certitude of sight
In solitary moments in some slight
Of hand, the deft applause of synapses, a gemütlichkeit
Born of static sparks and all that comes of friction.
In the sweetness of the ambergris, the lubricants of predilection,
No phoenix dotes nor lingers long. The quail need fear
For nothing in the night, no delay pedestrians the day
In precocious hours while incidentals speaking interactions say
Whatever comes to mind, a finale of raw anticipation in arrears .
There are in any year those misnomer festivals, ferial seasons
Cut adrift by aimless circumstance and accidental chance,
A shameless perversion of the odds while a glance
To right or left reveals clarity and reasons
Raised beyond the calculations of malicious minds.
Eagles discover indolence and periodic indifference outright.
When the winds gesture favourably in arcs of artificial light;
Above the immediate, pleasure will surely seek its kind,
And well within the breech, parameters of careless joys soon
Dilute the fearsome images of bloodstained wolves and owls,
beneath a panoply of nocturnal props and playthings of the moon.