Aught, no. 2 (1998)

David Hickman

The Beautiful Changes

Sorrow is a crucible

of diminished words.

And "as a result it became possible
for a man to reflect within himself."

And waves of the sea
that wave outlandishly


A miniature of the Hellespont

The sacred earth under sacred trees.

Maintaining almost, an air of the

"Whose time has come and gone,
whose pefected resilience
has been rendered unstable."

Though beautiful as a silver bow.

Or berette of ivory in her scented hair.

Its shadow of onyx, a quote he remembered

who sat among texts

                                 to lay deftly down.


in the city we walk, and then we ride. in the city the buldings, the implacable heights. and we are walking between the faces of the monuments and the people. and we are the people and we are walking and there is time. it is an ordinary day. then an ordinary night. the cabs are moving , their headlights are moving. the museums are full of people both dead and alive. and the people are full of national pride. it was an ordinary day, perhaps a little too bright. nothing is happening and everything at the same time. which is the same old thing and we may invoke the sublime that is far too easy, a defense of the city, which is beautiful and white as the afternoon clouds which float above everything, and are very pretty.

Copyright 1998, by the author. All rights reserved.
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