Postlog to Last Poems / Poems Last / Lost Poems / Poems Lost by T Newfields

Postlogue

Lis: Transcendence? Is that possible?
Lex: Most certainly, yes. And great people throughout time have been doing it.
Linda: For most people, transcendence is at the point of death. However, many people catch glimpses of it now and then throughout their lives.
Ron: So this Newfields guy – how did he die?
Linda: Does it matter? People die of innumerable causes. To me what matters is that a few of his poems still live.
Ron: I dunno. I hate it when people preach, and some of these works were pretty preachy.
Lex: If so, the author was preaching to himself. Isn't that the only audience we can be certain of?
Tim: In a strange way, we become what we write. Writing is a form of time traveling.
Linda: (surprised) Did you hear something odd?
Lex: It may not make sense, but yeah.
Lis: Anyway, relax and don't worry about understanding. Our notions of whether or not things are sensible ultimately doesn't matter.
Ron: Yeah, dat almust mucks ahh weird sense. Normality iz a myth.