Travelers We
In this linear, sequential dimension
it seems one door needs to close
with full finality, complete
- kaput! Before another can open.
Ding, dong!
And so on.
A journey with passages, turnings and roundabouts,
lay-bys, way-stations, trig points;
Doorways, interfaces, boundaries
implicit.
With at least some directional orientation
and on-going intrinsic momentum required,
else,
like those lost in the desert or ocean
it’s a case of going in circles
at best, drifting.
(As against flow!)
Stir up the engines,
keep the flames burning,
wind up the cogs
allowing for fair breathers
- and foul weather
O Travellers-we!
It’s not a one-stop job.
Here to there, done!
Here, a start point;
There, a deceptive end.
When there is no-such thing.
Think chrysalises,
think heavens,
think inbetween,
think infinity - outside Time.
How Space itself is constrained:
A to B. Albeit, in any direction:
All the way, step by step
seconds and breaths, one at a time - in a sort of queue
strung out in an orderly line…
…so it would seem - which in turn involves a perspective
and for dear Godsake, surely...
who witnessing - even creating - what?
The washing line, road, purpose
or the experiencers either end!
Gerroff that hobo-horse,
scribbling watcher, you!
So the road winds endlessly on,
up and down
slung in the nano-no-time
betwixt moments and things.
Grammar of TravelING
- the point ones’ AT.
Ju