A Place Without Time

Long, long ago and far, far away…

You’ve put…
(Pause for restructuring of certain syllables
in order to properly express symbols of elegant etiquette)

You’ve put our relationship in a place without time.

It was ART in her presence.
(But she didn’t want that out of life [you know, to be a presence] she wanted to be somebody’s

But it was art.

Primal rhythm to her speech
ac-sensual-ated by the periodical ringing
of the spoon on a coffee cup in the middle of transformation.

Then I remembered
(or thought I did)
What it was like to hold realistic expectations of passion in such high regard.

Seems like forever
(but we know what forever really is: The cloudy explosion of non-dairy creamer in a coffee cup.) Forever
Is the tendrils, patterns, swirling around in an attempt to make you forget that you really don’t need stimulants to become a whole person.

If God were a painter
that moment
–there in time–in no time–in suspended time
was his picture.
It was his instance of Platonic perfection manifested for men
so they (we) know that there is something
better–more pure
and we (they) can never have it.


About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on April 26, 2012, in Author, Fiction, poetry, Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

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  2. Great piece!

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