ancient roman standard


arrive to a lack of all things and non things and people lack, people lack it but have hope.

what is hope? do they have it?  will I steal it from their eyes?

in its absence I feel invincible, slow, steady, assured and accepting all.

that there may never be true hope, that 'abandon all hope ye who enter here' may have no meaning yet.

we don't care.  look about yourself, look hard, look close:  no one knows what a care ever was but know now that they may never be whole lest they get that last drink, lest they get that never kiss,
hoping slow
that someone they meet will open their arms and call them,


come here to me! I want you, you for all you will ever be or fail to be,
it is only the stretching of now that matters and now I call to you,
open armed, full of endless happy hopes to be fulfilled
imagine me imperfect in a mess of sheets whispering your
name after I know you've left to spread your abilities over the earth

we sit slow, fill what we have, anxiously anticipating its inevitable lack,

yet we somehow have homes and ways to relax.