Philosophical

what defeats my writing 
is the burning of the sun 
and within this vessel 
thought is one 
with time that flows with it 
and it is this very witness 
that will see us 
come undone 
but all is good and well 
where the flesh yet throbs 
and the water freely flows 
for who shall come and stand in 
to say what was said as we begin 
back again in an accursed old book 
that tries to sell meaning to us 
to set up the abomination of desolation 
the banal clambering of a bum 
ploughing the exact same line 
as that of the utmost intellectual 
separated by class 
denoted by the coin 
left alone to revel 
in the infernal nest 
of the monotonous