by Lewis Turco
The world is too much with us. Sooner or later
We have to let it go, and when we do
Who knows where it will go? We'll need a greater
Place to inhabit — perhaps a dead volcano
On Antares or a spinning top
In a sandstorm that cannot stand to stop
Blowing dusty souls to Hell and back.
Somehow we need to get our lives on track
Again. Or do we? Let the damn thing go.
We've been alive as long as necessary
To get a few things done, be young and grow
Old enough to drop what we've had to carry
Over the River of Time against its flow
Into the wilderness of the endless prairie.