ROADS OF TIME

by Peter Alejandro Cortes

I'm sluggish on that blunted
sands in the hour glass
soap-opera crap.
           How can
I understand time when all I know of it is
absence and craving? Time as a wheel
when time is a flower.
        There was a time and there was a place
where and when the crossroads spoke.
I have moved so far from the center of the crossroads that all I can do is accept that I'm
here. Now.
And now, I mean, could you imagine what Flatbush Avenue would have to say at, oh, about
noon on the 13th day of the month — yeah, sure: traffic.
        But what I search for is time enough to lose dim human vision; the cluttered roads of
time avenged and re-opened.
I am crystals and seeds and a body. I can be time.   
 

Poem copyright © 1994 Peter Alejandro Cortes

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