A Headlong Stretch: iii. The Twelve

The jury's out upon the matter

and they can barely bear to admit

that all the time we spend planning

in the end will matter not one whit.

Though I've certainly considered

every vital pro and con

I get no scent of an acquittal

I lose the drift..... the signs are wrong

What's going on?

(Twelve signs of the zodiac,

twelve hours to face,

the twelve disciples all aquiver,

twelve arrows strike a twelve-tone case.)

Round and round in repetition

of the flight from boredom into thrill

and all the time we're waiting on the punchline,

the hollow laugh within "we will'.

What won't we give to take up

the turning over of a new leaf?

No-one ever reaching future perfect.....

before we know it, beyond belief

we come to grief, we hit the reef.