Minute Men

MINUTE MEN

Imagining supernal, limits laid on the eternal—

moves the minute man, his one through ten,

the fiendish things infernal.

Trace the silhouette of darkness; mark this

poem, it fails to harness

what the pearly permutations of elation

make so artless.

Now, precedence should show dissimulation is a no;

the antiquated fast inflates, the reverie expands, dilates;

remembered makes of memory

euphonic penitentiaries

and we remain the prisoners of

all that once was vagary:

felt funny, then, feels strange again,

this minute man, his one through ten. 

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