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I'm Not Going

In this chronometric crater I'm catering,
in the image
of the sandy trapping pit
of an ant lion,
the moment of acceptance of age
has dawned on me,
without further ado,
without misgivings or slacking slickness,
like the soothing fragrance of a butterfly orchid
where cows rest at night, some ways off
- ancient memories in the grass -
or like the warm sunlight on my skin
at twelve noon,
connecting me
to the wider attributions of the cosmos

Just being
is a reward, a place, a time;
the Nobel Prize of existence,
out of the generosity
of an expanding universe,
and in a time,
the properties of which
are those of a fairytale

This letting-go of myself
- of my self! -
opens a calm habitat
in the birdsong of early summer

I'm not going, great style,

I stay
with the rippling
of brook and senses
and whatever is left
and feels right!

The bicycles remain my friends,
and the book stacks,
while a vain wars rages;
its muscles and tendons twitching
and rupturing
under the horizons,
sonic booms fertilizing back gardens
with civilian remains

Outbreaks of human pride
have death drag its rancorous rain
along the perimeters of my mind

A seemingly total change may terrify,
but is but the crest
of a motion
been going since long,
behind the eyes

I'm not going

The world is taking place

A turbo-prop plane inches
across the firmament;
a thought crawls like an insect
across the pavement

Time moves in jerks and fits
like drops of rain
down an afternoon window
when no one is home




Fri vers (Fri form) av Ingvar Loco Nordin VIP
Läst 24 gånger
Publicerad 2022-06-10 09:50



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