The Quest

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[An older poem of mine about death, life, time, timelessness. Photograph above is not a grassy knoll. It’s a landing strip for infinity in Kiama, NSW.]

The Quest

Been around for a while this drive to live forever,
hack a head off, eat a corpse, sit in a cemetery
drinking from skulls, eat your shit, hold your breath

& count to a hundred, civilisation one long quest
to become a pyramid in cyberspace eternal
as nerdy numbers spun into strings, knots

that vibrate things into perfections that don’t exist,
an infantile fear of death masking ignorance
of dying as just another change of shirt or life

a frisson of imagining the absolute nothing
that nothing exists, a quest still alive & well
in Wall Street & ads for cars. Gold expresses

it best. Shiny, immortal as the sun it coagulates
from the black baseness of lead & suffering,
gold defines us like a god defined by us

who are the blind & tricky god playing games
with the bloodied dice of evolution, history,
him- & ourselves, the planetary flip into frying

the sweet & shining banalities of the everyday
where it’s time to know we’re timeless, a bird
singing hidden in the imperfect poem of the tree.

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~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on December 2, 2013.

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