To my own Vivienne, wherever you are:
... not to be found in my obituary
Or in memories draped
by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken
by the lean solicitor
In my empty room
Upon a time, once there was
Who took the time —and what is time
But a thin line with hash marks
Conveying us then to now
And from now on, or
dashing predictions
a one time rotation,
Unrepeating, unending.
If history is a cycle of mistakes
time is one long forever,
now and then familiar
but the future never known;
if yesterday was headlines
and today is talking heads
tomorrow is today’s cheap talk,
Just when you thought it wasn’t
Just what you least expected.
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