VII: Core

Clambered uphill from sea to village
under fat white sweltering sun
and empty sky.
Airstill silence. Goatbell's curt tin clang.
Silence. Clambered and felt
through the smooth hot rock
his anger enter me. Pointed beard
jutting erect, words spout like a
rupture without refreshment over
a dried airless land.

So what did the old man say?
Did the reprobate pull the sed tacendi
tactic again? It is time he shut up
that late swill. My own anger is
enough for me to swallow now.

I have spoken words that balanced
the world on anticipation, but I lost
my centre fighting the world, not, mind
you, in the struggle, but while my
ordinary mind was intent on elsewhere,
my soul like loose change slipped
through a hole in my pocket, is
scattered somewhere, and my body
won't die.

Why see me? Why come? Why raise
this dry ghost again? My words are
stones in my belly, and yet you
rattle me, so
here's the whole thing again:

Everything's been said before
said our homophile Gide
but no one listens so it must be repeated:
If you live long enough and
deep enough you will decipher
your own life's code and
there will be answers, I promise.