If ever,
Just as it was.
And no year is the reincarnation:
Of nor another --
Nor the other.
Nor the selfsame.
There's never a promise:
That it shall be, as it was.
What (ever) we imagine
It, a wannabe, to have been.
What (ever) we imagined it'd b.
Nor do we ever walk,
As (if) it were, full-back(ward),
Our heels leading the way,
Anyhow,
Toward heaven's gate.
Over there in
Naivasha.
Or some place else: Giza's Orion p'raps.
Toward the very same Ness.
No year ever returns
Ever, ev'n as we do
The very same old things.
Nay, the same difference.
What we wanted so badly to
End returns, only
In the famed manner of another,
Moon.
No year returns to meet tomorrow's wind.
V-winged. Stealthy.
Shrouded in visible irony and
Smart-boy alloys.
The wind
Which
Has no driver in the scheme of things
And rides
Alone. Headless. Chicken. Dead meat.
It alone is (in) its own horse-power(s).
It alone (in) its lock, stock and barrel.
Chief.The wind rides alone
Toward its past lives.
Where ever it left 'em.
A cat's, ahead of Time,
Nine.
And won't find 'em!
And no year returns to witness
The very same wind
Fall.
The very same December!
All dose years we wanted
So badly to end.
Return only under
De usual guises.
Of ill-winds plowing,
And fortunes falling,
And reality convoluted,
Farther behind the curve.
To the right.
Faster. Fainter. Painter. Farther. Father!
There are no winds
Between here and forever.
Only sunsets misread as
Gale force. Tsunami.
Working class.
As a million dead-ends.
Dividends --
We couldn't take along
For the ride,
If we so very badly wanted.
So so badly.
