The clock makes real to us
the most terrifying of truths.
O Baudelaire!,
you who so intimately knew,
the most dreadful of beasts,
Bordeom,
escaped
or tried to escape,
its guillotine
by pouring into Poetry
each
and every throb of
your consciousness.
Poetry
is but rhythm,
a way of living in
our own,
personal
time.
Tony Xavier 