TRANSCENDENCE
An Ode.
"The Poet is able to acclaim the flower because he uses its fruit as food"59
Your words run stilled
& are you deep?
Below:
The somber-fostered Shadows
--Summer loves--
which Winter's Peace estrange &
Autumn Dirges,
Melancholic Spring
( robbing
your pure tender un-dying) and
soft hushed shrimp Shades of thinking
( Urges ) maybe the deep-dark
green Solitude without reference
or consequence, that blue Image
(of) th'Sea's persisting textures
upon Time
or, grey'st Eternity --Every version
eyeballing The obvious:
with pale immutability wasting away
the wealthy currency of Life
to chilly elegies
It's always too late for someone
but it's never too late for anything
the madcap Minimum
--a wilder bewilderment than All
the previous ones that led to it
through the utmost landscapes,
the orchards of The Hush,
Caprice's unquitting workshops,
Design's shrinking circuits,
Life, some fortuitous stain,
Th'Moment's imminent, unstoppable
translations, Forces which make us
so willing to pause
(watching our Self's vain Exit) here
being The Only Proof that in the make-
believe Beginning cradling us there goes
a Hope (further than, merely), but a God
too simian for what keeps spirally spinning
down mists of too dry Mist/Mind run
your words of Dread like dolphins dancing
all through the smothering equivalences
of Th'Changeless: boiling down to
an ocean of Sameness--th'murderous
months of The Moment's motions like
empty ceremony taken for Implication!
profoundly affirming The False with
imagery of inversions is our foundation
--There's Peace! for us all (in
that deep: All jells! ... even the disparate
compromises of Mankind torn to shreds by
its integrity exalted to a tee like a) crucifixion,
his presence like Progress its personification,
climaxes for references, magnificence
sans all significance comes Man!
cast brute, blind & pitiless
from some Higher Nowhere after
Noun having crossed Th'Thinmost
(line of contrast) O, twixt Beginning &
Death: move those ever-menacing midgets of
Mankind in tints of orange & yellows &
ostentatious with hardly a relief in sight:
black & white through the unpardonable
dappled (indispensable deliriums of
The Light) like a tragedy where All is
Beginning! Always, only, always:
Form/Decay & all this eternity's but The Un-
true Start (to the most next brief
edge of Existence) with definitely
NO definite END in sight, some saying, "O what
horrible something's The Endless" in which
some find a morbid beauty in the circular, repetitive
static ... while others a challenge out of which
they must hatch--
O, Start is forever nimbler
than Th'Quickest Ending (which can't ever hope
catching it) while mourning
th'Triumph of Time
tumbling without trailing
through The Modern ( meandering may-
bes drowning in the imagery of
th'gone ages) stunned into talking,
his solitude like a consolation,
sits Man
like a sentence all his own,
Conscience's enormous pause
staring upon th'hues of Fall
Reason to the point of risk
and Risk to the point of Reason
even as yet from the bosom of some
unborn Spring: Nature still promises us
another indiscriminate Flower--still
one more as-guilty bee (amongst the
impossible poems of The Thematic O) Man, runs
your Word: The Appalling Ellipsis!
& are You (stilled) with-
