Sunday, October 9
ON THE WATER
And the world, entire would load before your eyes And there's no more And caches clear and all songs stream at once The sound delayed, avatars retired And all seasons complete at once with the earth tilted on its axis no more The weekend's lightning, languorous arms stretched after lunch—you can't take more And the robes are soaked; why, they can't absorb another drop and what's more washes over unimpeded now And there's more The morning after all justice meted out all grudges would be lost in the cloud And power would go out And all leisure would be more radical then And the fight would go out of you with the world at your fingertips guiding your hand to the ends of luxury It doesn't get any better than this there's more of the same And who could want more (Moheb Soliman)