Fig. 5: The Poet Calculates the Potential of Other Instruments
Wednesday, 19 March 2014
73. The Revolt Having Failed, It Must Be Time to Cook
What is corrosive is a purely circular viewpoint, round like a head or a cake. The mountain we can see is made of stones, we guess – wrongly. There are no secrets in an equality. Everything we see is made equally of light. Only the dead, all the dead, who choose not to heal, are stone and they break. Add to their brittle rigidity the triple male gaze – fetches ready for nothing. Grind them & whisk them, again and again.
The dead are a fuzzy comedy, a joke we tell, entropic patterns we project against our own darkness. How can they equal what we could do? Freewheeling like birds, we do that too, all available energy poised ready for reception. Sail on above us, you pioneers, & gather the light we shall live by. We must run through then the whole gamut or armature of our potential, from weak poets sealed up within industrial grade polythene sheeting (let them inexorably rot down together!) to a last resistant, innocent of power but always ready to call it out & shoot it. Inextinguishable once reborn.