The moment spreads before me
like an alluvial plain below
your promised apex -- to embrace upon
such an undulating terrain stretched out
beyond the joining of parallel lines; but ...

but then, a twinge recalls lone descents
of the past, the cuts
and abrasions, wear and tear
to my knees, and I wear
my age, so ...

so I demur, passing on the present
then memo myself, suggesting
a future of editing
the past.

Wil Hough's poetry sighs his deep frustration over the pit into which the "Summer of Love's" flower children have fallen. This heretic's poetry and essays weed up, here and there, through the pavement of society waving a single finger salute to GNP. The Grandfather of 11, as NOVL Papa he also manages the poetry folders of AIN's Writers Block. Will is one of our poetry staff at the Rose and Thorn.

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