Not a religion, poem. Key?

16 October 2006

This is consciously a poem and so must try to outstare itself. It knows itself by its line breaks. And clever self-referencing. Its lack of narrative is clear— we're waiting. And again. "Here" lies, an opportunity. Your eyes can speak of symbols, signs of things that haven't come in a visual age: an end to war, despite a War to end them all. And suffering, despite a fat man's sculpted illusion. You have your peace. I prefer my conflicted version. But this is consciously a poem, not a religion. It's a chance to speak without dogmatism, without a voice if you choose. And to read without one, too. Chance forewords drop from the air or out of your mind's eye, whetted and appetised ... No pictures anywhere! So is reality nowhere? Yes, we can be happy at last. Reality freed. Costing nothing, giving nothing. All consuming, a self-conscious // —mean "not mean". Or try this ~ Art? Always "not art". Its one great purpose. Don't blame the // or the ~ or even the ___ for their re-theenking. When you're in a dark cell, ancient ring pulls from Coke cans feel like keys.

ARTS AND CULTURE

Not a religion, poem. Key?

Subscriber login