Going On

There goes Mike again, trying to sound positive though his belief that civilization is a toilet often sends him to the bar . . .

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Going On: Homage to Yeats and Beckett

Though the center has never held,
Still there is a world with us in it.
Though the Sirens no longer sing
And Ulysses lies beached in grief,
I’m relieved that when the moon comes
And splashes her foot in me I can feel.
Though it seems a stretch it’s a start.
Something in us slouches to be born.
Every old soul I know feels stuck,
Despairs amid the myriad escapes.
Still there is a world with us in it.
Wisdom out-sprinted by machines,
Memories that howl like bad teeth,
And memories that sing us to sleep,
The rock and the hard place laughing
As we dream of passing unscathed.
Still there is a world with us in it.
As the sun nestles against my heart
And her hair heats my body’s length,
I know I’m never without a lover.
Still there is a world with us in it.
Sadness takes her leave of absence,
And your smile becomes superglue
For centers ever crumbling. Stay.
I want to feel the moon some more.
If all’s a dream I choose to be bound.
Second or first comings don’t matter.
Apocalypse, advent, the nothing new.
I believe now in your fairy tale arms;
And still there is a world with us in it.