“The Contours of Time”
Looking at myself in a one way mirror.
I’m taking in the contours of time,
making faces at who I used to be,
plotting out where I’ll be going.
Dia de Las Muertos-Jesus, two Shpongle masks,
dueling elephants and a Texas flag.
I won’t be far from these things,
and I’ll sing like my fire’s nearly out
and dance against hot worry and cold memory.
Will I make an album well received or lost
within some dusty rack or bottom of a discography?
Has my hair ever been this long in another life?
You’ve said so much to me this morning without words,
we think through synaptic loops within this same brain.
This tree outside sways many ways, half lit by sun,
it looks good against the picking Bluegrass.
And after six selfish months, I’m seeing it clearly,
with a redheaded shamrock in bed beside me.
As we tumble toward singularity concepts,
Man still struggles with an inferiority complex
towards youth, competitors, physics, morality.
To be victorious, I just outdo from within.
I’ve lost count of the number of times in a day
that I plug an eighth inch into a jack
or the number of words that I type aimlessly
or how many weeks its been since I’ve shaved.
Is the Greater Boston a bastion of future thought?
It needs valleys, cultural upheaval and a later curfew.
But most of the world always does, I say.