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Form and discontent
LORD OF THE FLIES
The words are
always and in every way
each individual word and each
grouping of words
by their very
definition, false -
the reality never
in any way
possibly taking
that particular shape, which,
however,
is a thing in itself,
experienced,
as everything is experienced,
and is therefore
real, indeed,
giving shape to the world,
imposing its will, its
false decree,
royal.
So this is a very fine,
very strong
net -
a net that is always full,
a net that captures
even the fisher,
a fisherman who chokes
in the midst
of the riches
of his catch,
surrounding him,
rotting -
chokes also
a fisher of men.
For if 'tree'
cannot evoke
a tree (only
a Platonic - eternal -
idea) what can we say about
'God'? The word -
any word -
if it doesn't have
a thousand meanings means
nothing
See, reader (sea-
rider!) how the words
lead you by the nose
through the enchanted kingdom,
a kingdom of words,
a net full of rotten fish,
a swarm of flies
buzzing about
the head, but when
the head full of flies rots, then
we will see
differently - the three
aspects of our being,
space time Eternity
come together and there
the words become the Word,
the figures
Form -
O Blake! O Blake! O Blake!
You could give names
and shapes
to all that.
You were a poet.
But I have no power of making.
My words rot
or swarm like flies about
something that is rotting -
maybe a head -
but maybe a seed
buried in the
foul muddy humus of the heart
where all the saplings start.