Ephram Pratt Sings of a Solipsistic Failing
Ephram Pratt Sings of a Solipsistic Failing
by Jack e Lorts
Solipsistic in nature,
the hands on the clock,
indeed, the fingers
on the hands
reaching into air,
into the silence
milling loosely
in a country of loss,
end in elegance,
like a poem
framed in silence.
Let it sing
in its strange
and lilting voice
of sirens & sounds
belching from horns
and chimneys
reaching into the sky,
elegiac and beckoning
in a sound of ice,
in a system known
as failing,
a song known
as vacant, tuneless.
I sense some Zen jazz going on here, but that
may be me interjecting epistemological soliloquy into Sisyphusian solipsisms. Either way, I hear the tick tock chime of this piece and in the vast distance that is perception, I discern a multitude of tiny hears grinding, churning, and wooing time itself.
I meant “Tiny gears”, “gears”! My phone autocorrecting and I keep thinking this is like motherfucking facebook where I can go back and edit over. Whew. Anti and pro tech at the same time. I need to experience the emptiness of this poem and walk the dharma path.
Awesome riffs of a fine rhythm sings in resonance in many
conjunctions and balances of a litany that wants us to hear more from Jack e Lorts.