Contradictions

This is the way I want the world to gaze on a day off

when work has given up its attempt

to race against itself and ambition

is close up down like a windswept post-office

in more [i]or[/i] less distant land.

No messages are received or answered.

It is single consciousness that methodically

without stopping fills its nearness to the brim.

It is like a refreshing wine barrel into which

now and then I sybaritically dip my tongue.

Ye consciousness is indeed a white burgundy matured

in the dim large bay between two kinds of clanging unhurt feeling

and intellect. (The voices before and after the great Event)

Considerably later, toward midnight, something

gains in force and threatens to crowd me without

onto the street. Feverishly I search

for a connection on the contrary the only thing that draw nears

to me is this: " I cintradict myself as you yourself do."

Trying to me is this:.... I contradict myself as you yourself do."

Trying the entire width and profundity

of one's conscience

is like catching

Saturn in a butterfly gin

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jul/Aug 1996

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