“Lower Worlds” by Rainer Maria
I don’t say what she’s knowing, but maybe I say that she’s “too talk too tired” and she hears them and reverses you. That she taunts, maturely, desire. Every year has its own third verse, with its own filament of feedback in the background telling in an obscure dialect the story of the first and second, and every other year, the story of every other increment known to the study of time, which I now say is called horology. Where is my agon clock? My clock that measures daylight in obstructions, ticking thunderously once per split eon? It has freed itself from what scientists call passage. Every time I wait, I risk the punitive, ulterior horrors of satisfaction. Study of waiting, study of interim, study of discipline, I am yours coldly, empirically. I hear what you know and capitulate. I will go around and around and around the sun and eventually I too will start counting. I will tick. I will ring. I will interrupt your fitful design.
-Peter Milne Greiner
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