an age in art

Though the committee had

closed the case on the 

666th plea of innocence, 

as we stood their with our hands shackled

cracking  

in the 

sugar                        glass                      jury               room                   where                    our                 linkages                make              up                   nothing          at          all

i started to sing.

And there's something about the way I'm pulling out the seeds from my pockets

and using your mind as a flowerbed

where I'm going to harvest the rising of a new millennium from your laughter;

I'll show the rest of the world how 

when the two of us converse

we are the epoch of a culture

like a newly                                                                 lost

found 

generation

throwing a particle of your wisdom 

where the wind hit the cliffs 

to combine it with a fraction of my 

voice

until the cubist illustrations are the most realistic things in the room

and our words

just a harmony of contradictions

make grown men cry

and the angels weep

My mechanized cataclysms are waiting under the arch in an attempt to argue their way into a philosophy-free future and no disjunction between the then and the now. 

it all rings incessantly true

that there has never been a single case wherein 

an age has failed to recognize potentiality

that it had rejected an age before.