January: Year-day 27

       
                                          
                                         
January: Year-day 27

Too much to think on, and with Shelley dead,
Percy, stormed under in the gulf, the strength,
madness, genius we need seems somehow fled;
and with Paine and others gone, lost at length.

And with our technic capabilities
postindustrializing us at rates
that presage clarity but form clouds, these
moments passing, passed, strange, feel ancient dates.

Composing here a linear thing when life
about is circular, I would conclude
the answer's there I darken as I do
with a lashed world, a gulf in storm to ride,
were I not of those adventurers whose
flattest confrontations/ breed fending styles.

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