i met him at the holy shrine
(transitory)
and it only took half the time i thought it would
to find the paper perfect
to wrap the conclusions boxed so nicely by the person behind the person behind the counter
they all seem to miss the most important part which is themselves
and the man was only a genius who knew it himself and how far can the knowing go
on ulcer rotting on the shelf
paper weights and glass cases
and poetry scrawled on garbage can lids
i smile at the shrine
a mile and half high
twice as wide
where we leave our inspiration and genius at the feet of those who came before
bowing to some bennie driven perfection
(reflection)
of the tone of the times that never passed us by and can't reside for viewing
by the public behind the glass

it's in the air we breath
and the only reason we aren't is because we've forgotten
and it wasn't another time because there is only one time
and the only reason we are
is because we choose
to be
blind

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