We are fed by desire
and consumed like the fire
on our tongues, in our hearts;
a flame forever unappeased
by our words, symbols, deeds
or monuments; the phoenix, man himself,
recreated from his own ashes
out of hungering dreams and parched.
We live with hunger always,
that fearfilling, painpinching cave
wherein we hide like hunted stags,
lips dry, but tasting heroically
of miracles... Who has not seen
visionary lions fall to dust
and, scornful of the world's ambition,
left the hunters truth in rags?
Fish, birds, beasts, all are prey
to the same illusion, all wake
to the hunger that stalks and prowls.
Sands thirst for unquenchable seas,
plains thrust toward implacable peaks,
time moves unfulfilled and blind
from plans unrealized to those surprised.
We die hungry even while hyenas howl.
VOLUNTARY, EXILE
The day to day commitment to failure
that judgment daily argues against me
condemns me to despair. I am guilty
of more than silence. At times words fail your
wisest men and then, intentionally.
But my silence, like all my secrecies,
has no defense, none conventionally,
my personal idiosyncrasies
no social crimes. When pride is pain and shame
an agony too keen for reason, I
had no other weapon. Who is to blame?
There was no intent to deceive or lie.
My absence is sufficient evidence,
voluntary exile, not providence.
THE FOURTH CATEGORY
Of vegetable, yes,
but amorphous
by analogy
to stem
leaf
root
not a flower
nor a seed
and no use as fruit.