We Are Lung Cancer

I try not to think in terms of time

because some seasons have lasted longer than people

and this world will gladly outlive you.

The clock is not your friend –

it swings its arms around in a wild attempt

to defy you – it ticks and whines like

a toddler throwing a tantrum and

it always gets its way.

The young and the old are on a conveyer belt,

a rotating assembly line belching you

into life and out of it again –

yes, I believe in reincarnation.

You are caught in the smoker’s lungs

of Time and it is perpetually

trying to cough you out.

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14 thoughts on “We Are Lung Cancer

  1. Holy Christ! I don’t believe in reincarnation, but if I did, I’d say that Time coughed up a 92-year-old woman in you. There is a conveyor belt of wisdom flows through that head of yours.

      1. and speaking of Conveyor Belts and Connections, here’s more from Mr. Biespiel:

        “Since culture and society existed both before we live and after we die, poetry is a link to our passage through our own time and a record of poets’ perspectives throughout time.

        We know that human beings are intrinsically connected to one another in how we assert our being. When we read a poem, we are in the presence of this link. We are open to the metaphors of our shared natures. ”

        (!!!!!!!!!! — I think he may be in the same factory with us! He probably works the Widget Assembly Line….)

        http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2014/07/18/does-poetry-matter/poems-hold-the-mysteries-of-the-present-dreams-of-the-future

        1. “If we care about order and disorder, then poetry matters because it is the art of the utterance of beauty and the grotesque.”

          I love this beyond words.

          Most definitely in the same factory 😉

  2. This is poem seems to be written about a dream I had many years back of people (and me) all on a giant conveyor belt going to around to death. I stepped off to watch a while but everyone else road as placid as cattle till they plunked off. Have you been spying on my dreams?

    Very nicely written. I second JCC’s notion that time coughed up a 92 year old woman POET in you. Hang on to her. 🙂

    1. Dream spying? Perhaps. I would consider myself very lucky for falling into that head of yours 😉

      I think we’re all really old inside. I think we’re timeless.

      Thanks for this,

      Natalie

Thoughts? I love those.

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