For Our Time

Dunstan Christopher

For a time, a rising certainty, arising into the evening. I was everyday anointed, annoying still, but adult and in the stable. Seen and valued, I was poised and punctured, to light up. My time—blessed be the institution. All I needed was to follow. Pray? With miles as a calling card, how could you desist? Tell? All I needed was to shake off the shavings of the destitute academic to arrive in the cosmology of poetry, both literal and glittery. All gone to slipshod, shake and ruin. All gone to go there. All gone to prepare ye the way whilst I do the dishes. All gone to boo-yah, all gone to meh, all gone to YouTube yahoos and you-know-whos. You. All gone to hops to barleys to absinthe to Chartreuse, to crème de menthe by the bucketfuls. All gone to the bucks of the crème de la crème, the crème de la soul and Honey Nut Cheerios, chim chim cher-ee, old chap! Old chip off the chipper chopping block, mon cher, mon frère, mes amis. For a time.




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