THE VEIL OF MAYA
World holds together by keeping from itself
th'outliving Light, Th'Devil's free, dark
Will ( th'quick, dying
Certainty)... Man's undefended
indefensible Singularity!
echoing back & forth, ringing
around his limits: Defeat (that land
of stunted saplings); Victory (the nation
that still remembers Peace ), human
Passions, th'outworn angers of Doubt
... Desire's so fragile dandelions;
Convenience's too-trustless maid; and
behind the unbeknownst Moods
in their superficial Smiles & Frowns
the profoundest: What holds is
half Temptation! ... Stillness
lasts: Itself (a) waste, our free
Laughter stretching before & after
all th'cumbersome clowns
abed--O, what desires unnoticed,
unnoticed! flustering off Th'Sudden Ways!
bleeding all over us th'lightfoot Bloods
of the wounded Yesterday!
... Gloom sweeps
th'ungainly footsteps of all our Gains
in their depravation [sic], th'shoulders-high
hopes & shadows, the honeycombed hurry
of Time, Grace some unnamed something
stalking through Th'Sameness: the Last Word;
Hatred mere movement darkly preceding Th'Sunlight of
Love: lunging up the knee! whistling
startled Beauty--How does it cling? thus
mumbling th'by & by, devoid of
claw, sans fangs! or, worse: What does it mean
(to point to)? fixed quietly & strange,
savage atop a hill O almost
catastrophical we sang
the decimated rhymes of level-
headedness, evenhandedness, flatness, downed,
looking up on th'windy garbage
Life's infinite luggage
that can now trash about at will;
capturing without our clasped hearts of Silence
th'knotted notes of our cheap melodious madness;
the downward gulls of Inwardness
skimming busted over the broken
bones of th'heavy breast: tons of
weighty matters crushing a brittle Path
over th'plates of happiness that grind us
to the sad... crust Th'Custodian
profusely unremembered, after the pop!--Bursting
at the blanks, but the flat left-overs of
generations blown through th'gutters
that normally open (veins) to Th'Heart --Heavens!
What wouldn't one give now
for The Impossible Camera!
... while all
the World's laughable, competitive dictators
(offending each other with their individual
'luminosities' starkly un-unique, worthless
amidst the Sunshine's unrelentingly brilliant
cache!)... O how little they realize
Th'Dwindling Certainty!... growing
puritanical barbarians scorning The Wise
Believers of Th'Withering
wine! O Freedom, thou seldom, rare, dear
vintage of Man (Springs like so many
delusions) quenching the irritable lies
of Life. O turbulent Obliteration
be my theme... that the Unenduring Dream
(of eternal fleshness) folds
its tired, sobered wings (Write it down:
Each & every phrase's here
tonight)... Everything's coming together
for Th'Fall! over everything... each Sphere
of Silence drips its tentative implications
to The Voids, O uncertain Life,
with unsophisticated noise...
O, brusque recurring blunder of bloom;
We, Passion's rowing passengers;
we, goats at Th'Goal, we
Insanity's spontaneous snails,
we, Cowardice's clammy frogs, at
Triumph's corrupting strains, at Beauty
debris' most brief,
Sense at its seizure,
Time's scratchy Hush
each gracious Sigh (like lullaby)
prancing dangerously tiptoe--There!
Atop Th'Wall
that holds The World together (by
keeping it from itself... 22
^{22} A kind of Babel self-renunciation. The First half of this work attempts to bring forth a fury of statements to capture the greatest portion of so wide-spread a truth as to make anyone attempting to make all of it part & parcel of his philosophy (of his messianic message) look like the classic wide-eyed prophet of old --At least, the prophet despairs "what I would not give now for The Impossible camera!" [lines 20, 21]. [22] "dictators" not merely in the political sense. [30] Better alternative: "to the Voids " [29 et al] The Fall's the prophet's; who, poised atop The Wall [33] he is trying to point out (perhaps even by his own fall --as some sort of ultimate, extreme proof). I repeat: There is a wall here that is the justification for the existence of this poem. The drama centers around our acceptance of its reality (or not, of course). Had I dropped the prophet from the wall (at the ending) it would have left me with a nice fantasy (a lot less than what I seek with such a work): The message, and not the prophet, is the important factor. An impact greater than the mere splattering of a bag of bones & blood. The privacy of individuality. Certainly, the world not whole but kept together!