Given there have only ever been a handful of emotions —
tho, as our eyes evolved to particular lines in the spectrum,
so our sensible hearts may be dumb to all the high-energy
bursts & low-frequency murmurings which rain on us daily —
a cloud transits the sun & we’re fighting again; a first green shoot
underfoot & I’m whistling pop songs on this mid-winter’s morn.
What return then for the millennia spent on the palace of verse?
An axiom or two on the vicissitudes of the self?
To finally be able to draw a line and say, ‘We’re done here?’
If I had a dollar for every ‘heart is an unknown country’…
Current thinking is that around the stars there’s some massive unknown
drawing us together & at the same time a wilder fury
blowing everything apart. Now there’s something useful to work on:
wires tremble electrical, listening for unheard music still.