suffering gives reason to believe
& not to. i’m bedevilled meanwhile
by symbols, images of death,
martyrdom, memory, the clump
of body blows, curved steel
on flesh; the severing of a boy’s
consciousness.
i choose not,
not because it’s rational,
but as protest.
i have striven not
for correctness, philosophic
consistency, but
to care less.
2
the ascetic starves himself, is
mean, walks barefoot
to the shops, on hot
sand; no
beach bum
tho, on the road
to morocco or
grey street, hamilton.
he, or she, has
discipline; skin,
bone; eyes
the size of
saucers, open
wide.
fool.
visionary!
3
& when it’s gone, you think:
‘did that happen?’, mouth
open – o, stupid! marco is
so stupid – o.
he might have lived – if
he’d played his cards
right – longer.
4
the stillness of the stem
held between two winds.
the silence of the morning.
birds resonate
like leaves on the plum tree;
mute, invisible.
this evanescent
miracle is nothing
really.