From Geoff Dyer
The point is that there is no meantime.
There was just that moment and now there is this moment with nothing in between, just the accordian collapsing and expanding, the tune unchanging:
We are the poppies sprinkled along the field.
We are simple crosses dotted with blood.
Beware the sentiments concealed
in this short rhyme. Be wise. Be good.
( Read more... )
There was just that moment and now there is this moment with nothing in between, just the accordian collapsing and expanding, the tune unchanging:
We are the poppies sprinkled along the field.
We are simple crosses dotted with blood.
Beware the sentiments concealed
in this short rhyme. Be wise. Be good.
( Read more... )
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