It isn’t miserable not to be human nor is living utterly
within the earth condescending or void:
it is the nature of the mind to shield
its prominence, as it is the nature of those
who walk on the top to fear the depths
of despair –
one’s point fixes one’s feelings.
And yet to stride over a thing
is not to pull it off –
it is more the antithesis, a masquerading need,
by which the dogsbody completes the peer of the realm.
Similarly the mind disdains what it can’t control,
which will in turn quash it.
It is not excruciating to return
without semantics or visualisation: if,
like buddhas, one declines to leave
rolls of the sense of self,
one emerges in a cosmos the mind
cannot think of, being completely corporeal, not
allegorical. What’s your term for it?
Infinitude, meaning that which cannot be honourable.
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