The world that reflections fall to
beneath the petrol station in
the rain – that world where things are good
how can we reach it? The world where
the chemical imbalances
are mostly corrected. In there
where people don’t get stuck. I love
all of my friends, I love you all.
But you need to go to buildings
everyday, in other cities.
Things are made difficult by this.
You need to tap at keys and make
small adjustments, and be harrassed
by parents as their children cry
and try to cope with complex stress.
There is no line. No prime matter
that would lie down beneath things and
smoothly answer questions. Like why
argent, a cross gules, prevails here?
a symbol of stupidity
flutters in the cold wind. As I
attempt to make myself think well,
reach that world dropping away now
beneath the rivers, beneath seas
The Tree says “Down! – you
seeds and sapling usurpers
“I am the root and I the purpose
“know my bark, it keeps me strong.”
and murders them with shadows long.
The saplings and the seeds chant –
“Up! – the republic of growth
“of branching ideas, and new things here below
“until the wood is filled with variety
“old bark can stay – but we’ll have our society.”
Some hope to spark, to get underway
the fire, the ashes, it tends to gestate
grand ideas of a sunlit glade –
though dappled light seems the best some can await –
Born as they are with stunted branch
or lack of structured niche or dance –
they tend to fall back on the law of the light –
that when shadow is cast, those in shadow must fight.
Either starving dark among the shoots
or taking as model the climbing vine
or cutting the old bark down to size
or grouping and starving the heartless old roots
to scatter light out from the leaves of the few.