The Brink
I must not think of time and darkness, of the vanishing of woods and stars. Or what happens when cows graze placidly in moon irradiated pastures- their thoughts, saturated with light, easily replaced by the moon's otherworldly idea of meaning. Forever after they might gaze blankly past me at infinity. Even time halts under the moon's troubled radiance, I cannot decide whether there is any such thing as lunar reasoning, and the surreal cows no longer care what happens next between this or that reality. I must not think of time or darkness, of the vanishing of woods and stars. Or what happens if time decides to stop and go no further. Or of the self, isolated in an uncanny light of consciousness. Published in collection: Telling The Time |