09-15-2011, 11:35 AM
Shaving blades, colder than the distant moon,
grey as an old woman's hair, do not dance like daffodils.
The hollows of the subconscious
where sounds and language sit like books
hold no student's photographs
featuring extended arms,
a poorly written false wisdom
doodled in the white margin.
Maybe I'm a philistine.
Could the Holocaust have been
one giant performance piece? Don't demonise
poor Mengele. He was a struggling artist.
The Botticelli of scalpels,
Dante of the primed handgun,
the surgery, the broken skull.
Depression isn't beautiful,
regardless what the traveller may use of it to feed his art
on returning to this world.
grey as an old woman's hair, do not dance like daffodils.
The hollows of the subconscious
where sounds and language sit like books
hold no student's photographs
featuring extended arms,
a poorly written false wisdom
doodled in the white margin.
Maybe I'm a philistine.
Could the Holocaust have been
one giant performance piece? Don't demonise
poor Mengele. He was a struggling artist.
The Botticelli of scalpels,
Dante of the primed handgun,
the surgery, the broken skull.
Depression isn't beautiful,
regardless what the traveller may use of it to feed his art
on returning to this world.
"We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges." - Gene Wolfe