A Cornucopia of Elegies

February 28, 2012

All poets talk time
to get a handle on it,
to hack a place to hold it
to turn it to fold it
to climb it and mount it
to ride it, to flip it
to hide it or turn it
to toy with and tip it
to wrench it, to rip it
inside out to unlearn it,
to kill it to burn it
to save it in the innards of clocks
to pick it apart like a crow on a corpse
to drill it to dig it to bore it
and finally ignore it
.

Innocuous as time was when the air was green
and tenderfeet knew the ballet of beginning
like a tern on one limb in the surf by a sea
or as a swift lifts on a draft of instants
in the hour of sometime-but-not-now,
time is a bane and cornucopia of elegies,
a  master of poets it has ever enmeshed
since the word became flesh

A poet would do well to just pour time
like water or blood & wine and, savoring,
sip it
.
.

by Jim Culleny
2/28/12

.

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