but i know better now even though i spend my life shooting from the hip...but i know better and isn't it funny how it was ten years ago, back when i first found voice or thought i did...but really? him sitting on green street a few years past and i never found reason enough to go back and disturb the dust and so i turn to t.s. eliot to tell me a love song about love...life...random flashes of brilliant lights that tell us it's time...
are both perhaps present in time future
and time future contained in time past.
if all time is eternally present
all time is unredeemable.
what might have been is an abstraction
remaining a perpetual possibility
only in a world of speculation.
what might have been and what has been
point to one end, which is always present.
footfalls echo in the memory
down the passage which we did not take
towards the door we never opened
into the rose-garden. my words echo
thus, in your mind.
but to what purpose
disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
i do not know.