Tomorrow Knows Something(s) about Never

If only here and now wasn’t as hollow as tomorrow seems,
And matters of consequence that had matter were
Born into being by
A minor miracle.
But no hero or image conjured
By thoughts
Matters much.

What I imagine as a dense fog of little sorrow;
What I wonder is if stages by the sands reach in heaven,
Memories.
The latter of which are much later
Than they were a few minutes ago.
Whatever goes into this is something like a serpent;
A deranged lunatic on rampage;
A sordid love affair with no sex;
The jurisprudence of the sane gunman;
Fortunes made of continual transaction;
Nothing means anything
Anything means nothing
Means nothing anything
Anything nothing means
Hurray!
The wolves have shed the wooly veneer;
Hopscotch lines painted on asphalt fade slowly;
Garbage rattles;
It does
But what has the world world come to?
What are we to do but live with each other?

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One Comment on “Tomorrow Knows Something(s) about Never”

  1. Ryan Purcell says:

    “…anything nothing means” I like how you arrange these three words in different combinations that yield different meanings. Hurray indeed. I also like sounds and colors of the at the end of that section–asphalt, garbage, the gray-ness of wolves’ wool that might be floating in the air feather-like since it was shed. I think of cold November.

    We were discussing theory one night in a tavern and you came to the conclusion that none of it means anything, except insofar as it affects others; what matters, you said, is how we treat each other. These lines bring to mind that memory.


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