It's that season of the summer
again, after the age of wander
wears off, having exhausted
the sprinkler systemmes et all the
pool parties; now, we seek for
new cardigans and bring forth
new circadian seasons in their time.
All in good time,
all in good time,
and all these things are great things-
only, now we plan our trips for Paris in the spring
around the time that Here has whispered promises to bring
the beginning of conversion of the soul,
that is, the gritty stationary first dawn of potential whole.
Wander,
wander-
Here's whispering has set our face like flint,
has sent
us wandering,
wandering,
wandering-
swinging energy, centrifugal
force, emits from all,
no centre at the centre, no
centre for the whole.
Wander,
wander,
wandering,
wandering-
in the back of our ear canals
we still scratch at the dust of it all.
-r
