Extracts from "Being Here" by J.B. Pick.
Creation equals infinity plus one,
And that's impossible; just can't be done.
So let's rejoice: we make some sort of fist
Of living in a universe that can't exist.
Something has died in the air.
Clouds hang in despair.
No rain falls anywhere.
I call on the mind to shake
Clouds with a thought-quake -
Now, for green life's sake.
I don't like what I did.
Something sees but can't forbid.
It doesn't help to know you know.
The growth of wisdom is too slow.
We don't mime
In the theatre of Time;
The wounds are real:
We are what we feel.
He jumped at truth, and shut it in the safe.
In the morning it was gone.
"Thank God!" he murmered in relief
And went out whistling in the sun.
More of Winamop's Poetry
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