With Time On Their Hands…

Theoretically it was only to take an hour, one thin and obvious hour; a span that could be calibrated by an instrument of man. It was hoped that it could be constructed in that short of time. It was a postulation of hubris, of blindness, of haste, and meant to satisfy the deepest lust for the impossible, to make magic quickly, and sing it like a song.

Ten or so jackets milled about a foyer, and looked through 20 lenses to a contest form posted by a heretical child bent on a theory that time was not an essence that could be pushed around, but rather was a concept of elasticity; and not a moment that could be stretched like taffy and wrapped around a statue like arms and legs around a dolly.

At the end, which of course was just another useful concept, the ten jackets, thinking they had accomplished the task – smoked cigars, and made expansive plans for the cult of the future, who would stand where; prefiguring what each might say to the paper men, and then electing a spokesperson to act as effigy, they all went home –

Where there was more than time to kill…



(Note to Sack Posset: Is this Prose?)

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to TwitterAdd to TechnoratiAdd to FurlAdd to Newsvine


2 responses to “With Time On Their Hands…

  1. is this poem about a wedding?

    if not, sorry, i’m jaded. well, i’m not sorry that i’m jaded, i’m sorry if i misinterpreted the poem/prose. ?

    i had to do some reading to catch up here, poetmeister. seems you’ve had some controversy going on. keep it up. that’s what bukowski would probably say anyway.


  2. Hello Dame,

    Thanks for the visit, and comment – If this poem is about a wedding, then it is about the marriage we have made or have attempted to make between “Magic” and science and our confusions and assumptions about how Newtonian time is preferable to the more expansive and indeed more magically powerful quantum time’s ability to help us realize that we are already more preferable…than we were.

    Good Grief!

    Hey Dame, my explanation of the poem is likely more confusing than the poem itself. Please delete my comment…and reread the poem.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s