Pleasingly portentous date
Is something to be revelled in,
Despite its insignificance.
The fake notes and numbers hung upon
Artificial divisions set down in
The click of clocks in created seconds,
The calendar drawn up, hung,
Are prime examples of the illusions
We hang our lives upon,
And 12.12.12 is a reminder
That our world is printed over
The real Earth turning underneath
As we walk from day to day
And stand here in our painted place:
The fiction that we take for fact.
12 December 2012
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