As
the clouds drifted tirelessly from the now to
the after, so did he,
though he was tired,
burdened with the superior graces
of an elevated rank,
stifled by the confines of his
cell within the underclass, held, willingly, by the
bars which set the mind free, but not the body,
the messiah for the new world
and the helpless drunk on the steps of St Pauls,
he is poorer than he is rich
yet far richer than poor,
for the shadow is cast without
a source, a double negative whose presence can be confirmed
only by the absence of positive,
he is lost and found for he cannot
be truely lost, unknowing as he is of where he truely
belongs,
perhaps the knowledge of
knowing he is lost is the wisdom by which he is set
free
Contributions
from:
Maff Rowe - The Cavaliers
Simon - idle fellow comics
Rich Murphy
Kaki.Koma
SarahMolinaroli - Feed your head
Fred T Lindberg
Kristie Langone
Alex Mawby
Bill Thomas
Chihiro Machiya
Each group of innovators loses itself
among the moving pictures of calendars’
city blocks and surveyed and cultivated
farm land, regardless of the lithographed
brush strokes and candid stills of cats.
No science fiction exorcises rhythm
from the seized engine once a glimpse
gazes through the rear view mirror.
The most an inventor can do involves
worshipping the seat of his pants,
snapping photos that she never develops
until the mind exhausts its lubricants
and the baby carriages catch up. Day
by day middle-aged could-be magicians
lean on memory when walking and end
up mowing circles in cornfields or taking
the edges off falls from grace. Looking
out a window engineers of childhood
dreams watch period personalities
get beamed into the oblivion of memory.
