PREVIOUS NEXT FIRST DIGS, I come into these halls...

van Gogh's Corridor In The Asylum

I come into these halls
as I did once

when I was young & passed
along these walls
in love with all things past

in terror of being last

& twice as fast ( as Possibility
chasing the Chance of furtherest Light)
shining where Th'Run emptied into The Night

behind one of its countless doors
shut, locked with hours

I wonder where I once had wandered [sic]
then--still in that youth
quite lost but loose--

after a Ray no sooner reached
than Darkness then impeached

& just as quick--restored
behind some other door
distant as once before

where it had always been
forever waiting for my searching to begin

down through these Halls
of Silence, Darkness & pitfalls

across which Th'Wise Man softly

& softly             

              crawls ...


Th'Mind somersaults sometimes
into one firm acknowledgement, then somersaults

back splendidly against its
advancing track for no better reason than

merely to somersault (alone)

standing upon the hot
pavement (of permanence): th'feet
become too sensitive (to

that position, any un-
sustained or even un-evenly sustained
position) & taking the matter

of instinct at hand

they then try some other position opposite
The Present (one) O
Immutable-one, a

fugitive of all acknowledgements

Th'Mind works the soul like a plasma around
Second Thoughts th'blind butcher teeth, the
anonymous nibbler,

         lips form a frog,
eyebrows like a wonder at God, the

Mind navigates th'hammocks of
our pursuits dashing th'plows

(of) patience upon the diamonded
             ... until it
conquers, sensually, the Will's inevitable
--And then it leans on

towards Th'Finite flowing alternatives

O, steps! taking
The Infinite currents of Chance...

lacking both the honey & the sting, owning only
a drowning buzz of lust: With

its fingernails all drawn like a tiger

Time pounces upon the bristling
human hare that jumps!
at the thought            

           ... Nothing yet
tries the weakness & th'strength
of Man, however self-disclosing, O
scampering bug-eyed & wildly waving all
our arms
over the rooftops of The World's END
th'most despicable lemming is the one who
makes all th'others behind him wait out

his calculating how high's th'cliff
or which falling way to Death
will cost him the fewest broken bones

wonders make their play at our presuming eyes
slipping under its giant strides

for yet nothing un-
discovered tries th'pleasure & the
patience of our Will

nothing yet, still

instills: its wisdom & its reason
& sanity & sense

there to take root



                          & absolute