Borrowed from Forget Magazine

by Stephen Osborne

Time resumes its ancient cyclical mode: no longer the entropic speeding arrow but a wheel rolling along the continuum: we rise into communion and fall away into reverie, and the wheel turns and turns again–propelled by orbits circumscribed in flesh. We fall away, we talk, we caress, we smoke cigarettes and drink coffee or beer–there is no word that cannot be spoken, no caress that cannot be given, no question that cannot be asked, nor any that must be answered: the wheel continues to turn, as we recall in our private diurnity those larger, more eternal recurrences–solstice and equinox, sunset and moonrise, storm and the anticipated calm–that once informed all the metaphors of love.

Stephen Osborne can be found with Geist.


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