Nike and Boredom

[lewis taylor]

Nike and Boredom

The state of things
And how one tries
To frame the vexing image
(While it ever tears itself apart
And stitches dominate the grain)

Calls for swiftly
Shifting glass, for
Every sun's a virgin sight
And we, as fruits of all its labours
Merely inherit the fleeting day.

It seems no cinch
To keep one's feet
Or, let alone one's cloudy eyes;
The nature of our motion synthesizes with Earth's turn
Though the way of stable insight is the aftermath of change.

Yet there are those
Who time again
Attempt to render vision sharp,
And so they gamble with perception
In hopes - though maybe vain - of sense.

Every present
Carries colours
Not yet shaded fine by time,
But of today I mark it strange:
Both golfers rich and skid row’s junkies
Drape themselves in Nike.

And ever more
Condensed rain hangs
In form of dark commercials blaring.
Truly, to capitulate
Ought not be how we drift.

Though drift we must!
Until the hands
Of time tick t'wards their final bow.
We've all the world outside our doors
And all else at our fingers’ tips.

Immerse yourself
In pure time
And this young cent'ry we'll define,
But keep real sharp for if we don't,
Chances are we'll just get bored.