Eternal Recurrence

History spun, remixed, a rerun

with the same needs advertised

eight minutes an hour. Can one break free

( . . . over and . . . )

of love, requited and not,

( . . . over and . . . )

or oregano disguised as pot,

(. . . over and . . . )

bitterness that turns heart to rot?

( . . . over and . . . )

Cheaters go free / cheaters get caught,

saliene creeks wet cherried cheeks,

the same leaders, the same freaks:

demongraphics both natured and nurtured

eternal,

while the searchers search

for an abba-ca-end to a mortal curse.

Curse ye gods and Satans but stray clues

remain: an onerous protocol, legendary

recipes of what cooked before -

and will again, recipes worn by

some like a shawl, recipes of

filial forbearance, demented

tenets from beyond the grave,

and broken-stringed puppets,

limp and lank, decorate the now,

venerated like truth. Utopia is

a "going-to", so start your steppin',

sheltered by fronds, sleeping in

nipa huts, leaves turning

fuzzybeautiful, highlighted and bathed

in rhe sweet breath of dusk. From close up,

these leaves are

mosaics that show things as they are:

discrete pixels of nearly nothing,

colors that blend and flash

as life goes by.