“I wish the idea of time would drain out of my cells and leave me quiet even on this shore.”
—Agnes Martin, Writings
We had so much nothing,
it was taken for granted.
Believing nothing would always be there
absence became comfort.
Not unlike early morning prayers
spirals of grand scale idolizing
the ego erases into ecstasy
feral as our collective waking dreams.
This gap — promised conjecture —
as yet unproven and deep as the ocean
is sensory. A modern perception.
Time expresses both light and shadow.
Take this faithful repeated effort
to disrupt, relate, or to create.
Apocalypses, ancient reveals,
have nothing left to give us.
Release remaining regrets, a familiar form.
After all, we are in process
shaping the near future like it’s a bad thing.
Maybe there’s nothing but good in this.
Cache Culture 