Where is that gilt-lining –
saturated with stars,
bleeding rhyme, shining
Ever Ever, More More?
Would I flee from thee, in a post-punk funk
(O dark night of many hidings)
Re-test the psalmists echo of futile distance, or
was it Inescapable Presence?
Too many treasures there are, yet
they do not dazzle, but perpetually re-blind
Flickering in the periphery,
Provoking another inarticulate moment
Would we inhabit wonder?
Do we already?
Cautiously?
All that’s impermeable is
our impatience, skating
from one brilliant thought to another
A collective monkey brain,
with an armful of fruit –
one in the mouth,
fixated on
ThatOneJustOutOfReach