The Ghost Of Time Poem by Arnie Hicks

in the thundering silence
of impossible solitude,
dreams, dark and dangerous,
haunt the broken and the desperate.

mired no more in the march of measured cadence,
truth - called to task -
dissolves in slow fade,
only to reinvent itself
in random-sequence still-frames
of fractured eloquence.

echoing Dali's soft watches,
the chains of molecular circumstance
yield in reverential sigh,
and in the evolution from bloated irony to raptured agony,
the ghost of time quietly devours itself.