SO NOW I KNOW
NOTHING IS REAL
Having a cold at Cold Mountain Pass
is nothing to scoff at; nor is wandering
at Wandering Acres, or sleeping at Sleepy
Grove Lane. All these things have false
meanings, ideas to be taken, but not for
real, and, like the real world itself, nothing
is real. My sense thrives on senselessness
and my reason on the unreasonableness
of thought and being. Maybe I came
down from another planet, but now
my planetary gears can't get me back
home. I dreaded all this, long before,
on Admiral Nelson's Dreadnought,
was it, or not? How did we get from
here - to - there anyway? Is it not
that it matters if it matters not?
No comments:
Post a Comment