[And it will finally come]

And it will finally come to the word writ large

As a child can read when running

Which will bite into the wind like shears

Into soft metal.

It will be the flashing neon blowing colour

Into our eyes and moulding us.

Was it “When to the sessions of sweet silent thought”

My senses came, or else “The Big Wheat Country”?

But as the words are strung it is all done,

We do not need the eyes, ears and touch

Of all our yesterdays, but only need to be.

And our defenceless, softly moulded body

Will be shot with arrows painless and invisible

Carrying our needs or theirs.

When once Art had the arrogance to make

Our time stand still

It now has lower sights

And not approaching God is content with man

As target.