Eternal Recurrence

Again, again & again
“Its Saturday white & dry…”
Surviving line of a juvenilia at 18
whose corpus like the Basement Café
blazes no more in my eye’s cartography

 

Remembrance is easy: after all, haven’t I lived
like a dog trained by habit to bark & whine
A drunken boxer who couldn’t duck the uppercut
& – puzzled – kept falling, falling, falling down
the Joker’s floor that looked like up, up, up

 

Is she coming back who stole away the sun
Have the old gypsies folded up their tents
because the signs repeat the same old lies
Are we all meteors hurtling in the cosmos
Of imagined pain like some cheap cradle lives

 

The fiberglass chairs will outlast these young boozers
huddling at the tables like vesper penitents,
laughing & drinking to the future
the angel of history wouldn’t even divine

 

O how to leap over the invisible ravine
between the calculus of your hot, iron heart
& the logarithm of my river’s third bank
where I, turning into mud, sip cold dark coffee
from a dirty cup—
As when that particular morn of yesteryears,
when eyes were fiercer & hands quicker
I waited at the Basement for the first dawning of you
this eternal recurrence of the eternal you
amid the tumult of shifting friends & foes
who droned away the deafening silence of this heart
Again, again, & again
At Oz, “It’s Saturday white & dry…”

 

Everything changes
& nothing has at all changed.

 


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This entry was posted in POETRY OF EDEL GARCELLANO, selected by G.Y. Guillermo. Bookmark the permalink.

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