Page 73 - Jack Foley | The true litterateur
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                Yet we have our admirers
                           Both artists

                And in time, I think,
                           Of the circumstances
                We will both be understood

                           Of consciousness.
                To have added some measure of honor
                           “Joe?” “No, Ivan.”
                To the literary tradition of this amazing region.
                           The culture

                At least that is our hope.
                           Is built, renewed
                What does it mean to live in the West

                           By the outsiders, the a-polis,
                How do we stand against
                           Hence the need
                Those Eastern establishment figures

                           To build it.
                We, who trace our lineage
                           Your need to shine
                From the Everywhere.

                           In a poetry like no one else’s
                We, who watch time
                           His to enter
                Unfold in all its breathless catches

                           The endless world of Myth
                As the dark gathers around us
                           To build a world around him.
                And we watch as its fingers

                           Mirrors both
                Unravel everything.
                           Of the unending, the fantastic, the world words rise to.






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