4:15am
once and once again, the clock does not sound,
for in nether time,
there are no material measurements,
no actuality of numerals,
no millimeter notching's on skin for ordering
nether night nor dawn, an orderly dark disordering,
as time quietly flows all about your head,
as if it were an obstruction in
a gentling stream's path,
you, but a modest disruption,
a ripple of disappearing existence,
purposed for erosion
yet the unsociable media anoints me marked,
older, an e-naissance contusion upon the body,
your day of creation, your hour of invention,
has gone and passed
Paul calls,^
two melancholy men to melt into one
in word, in song, a comforting troubling
even,
an explanation proffered for the meaning of it all
the grand children,
send a generational appropriate video greeting,
an amorphous, porous, hug of electronic pixels
that will outlast every one of us
even
the last archeologist
nether this, nether that,
the lower register,
the upper hand,
the body, the work,
the body of work,
greeters both, sending morse messages uncoded,
your cracked vessel leaking deep water oil,
reminders that a horizon but another world,
another word,
for unobtainable,
all gone is just, all gone,
a blended beyond, marker of the nether place
of yesterday's and tomorrow's
^
"Yesterday it was my birthday
I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My life's a mess
But I'm having a good time"
Paul Simon