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.

3 thoughts on “Ephram Pratt Sings of a Solipsistic Failing

  1. 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.

  2. 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.

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