By Nicholas Gordon
October 14, 2017
Twenty Four is still in preparation,
Waiting for the future to begin.
Each moment is an infinite regress,
Neither more sustainable nor less,
Transforming what will be to what has been.
Yet the heart is fierce with speculation,
For now, so much depends on each sensation.
Opening a vista to the west,
Upon which one might choose which route is best,
Reckoning which wagers one might win.
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