As Aspiration and Regret

Yesterday is now and we remember no one

Toilsomely dances more than we do tomorrow

We cast our startled looks at spilt milk

There where an angel’s quill softly trembles

Transcribing the vast temple of our echo

There we are the furious toreadors of song

So many words are scattered on the ceiling

We sweep them under the menorah table

There where dust devours the shadow spiders

Later we are religious tongues that goad hope

We the preliminaries adopted during meditation

We predictable embrasure of parasitic form

We express nothing immanent nor transcendent

We notice time noiselessly moves through the room