Maureen Scott

I think late in the day
Beginning to understand collectivity.
It's life, carrying on, call it what you will,
It's the mystery of history.

Just sit and watch the watch
That doesn't need winding.
It moves, life unfolds.
I am, as is.
These are my last words.
Crazy, anxiety. Post Freud.
Velikovsky, terrified to fly,
Leave terra firma.
Home after the floods.

Remember the hell of Beirut,
And the hells of history,
Troy, umpteen levels, they went back,
Again and again,
To rebuild their cities.

The philosophical schools of
The Ancient East are pretty good.
Why else are we here,
but to be bizarrely electric,
to trick the great dialectic?
Rose is a rose, is a rose,
That grows?

Philosophic. It grounds me.
I have to work it out
From down here, on the earth,
Scouting about, like an archeologist.

Mathematics, logic
All the rest is in between.
We will fly,
Cast our genes into the cosmic wind.

What language do we speak?
Please leave me alone.
Cancel all my appointments.

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