Object Poem by William B. Deutscher
Object
Wherever it may go, this is the thing
That slips away as soon as it appears,
Desired above all else but
Not for the taking, not now or ever,
Obsessively processed from the past
In the flat present tense of a moment
And superimposed on the bright future
As a perpetual dream to be,
An object pursued, endlessly.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
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5/4/2024 2:20:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
