INFATUATED
The small things are what grab me now : I stand
in the dark, looking up. The night sky - here at least -
is dark and shows me stars - dipper this and dipper
that, Orion and North and Venus and the rest. Ancient
past, still bubbling, on high to haunt. If I had to speak
truthfully, say what I saw, I'd admit I haven't a clue.
Disaster strikes anew : we're so far off from those
old and ancient, who used to sleep beneath these
stars, and live and die, and talk. Now, it's like
a strange flat book, one I cannot handle.
-
I am infatuated with everything, and in love
with most else. I see the universe in a grain
of sand - all that lovely crap - but I cannot
really translate here what I am feeling. I cannot
displace the William Blake intensity of my crazy
mind : Urizen and Enitharmon, Los and the rest.
-
If I can write, I too will write : a madman's crazy
books can be no worse than any of this. Stars and
universes, all on high, replete with replication here
within. I am universe within universe, master of all
I see and say, and - as well - the one now so
steeped in confusion and pity, a sloth of dismay.
Oh stars, oh universe, take me away!
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