Thursday, February 6, 2014


"The Celtic deity of eloquence. He looked like an older version of Herakles. He was also a binding god who would use his powers of persuasion to bind men onto himself and then lead them into the underworld."

I will continue in the same direction
Until I disappear forever. The sun,
Any idiot iron-age ploughman knows,
Runs back along the same rungs, year-after-year
Like a post-chained dog who's forgotten the wolves
That followed the Ice-Age, African hunters
And their foul butchery of Neanderthals.
Nasty stuff, culture. Have you seen the color
Of water lying in pools on a glacier?
Dry skies have never been so blue as that wet,
And the most becalmed ocean looks black by it.

The reason (Reason! Pornographer of God!)
Is that there is so little life in that blue,
Compared to the seething madness of the seas.
The quiet mind, like tardigrade-infested
Himalayan pools of weird waters, colder
To mammalian touch than ordinary ice,
Is not, among us, is not, among any
Of us, free of culture's slow-swimming sea lice.
But the clarity gained by microscopy
Can't compare to the clarity gained by verse
(So much worse!). The sun is a spotted, wild dog.

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