Cut into the human wood
chop; pare;
to find what is already there.
Will the knife reveal
what we have outgrown?
Or does the sculptor feel
along the veins and in the bone
the shape already in the stone
and gently, where the stone is brittle,
cut only not too much and not too little?

Or there again,
you might be just the wall,
my favourite picture on its hook;
behind (if I should ever look),
nothing at all.

Like sea
with sky reflected
deceiving me,
by birds rejected.


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In a flat
you think
you could scream yourself to death
and not be heard.
Pressing your cheek
against the cool of the sink.
One breath
upon another breath.
No word
for that.

In a room,
you suffer
inside door,
walls, ceiling, floor.
You could shout,
you could walk out,
it’s not a tomb.

In a crowd,
you might suffer with everyone in,
trade joy with everyone in;
too loud to think alone in.


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“My head is clear today,
the heavy morning stayed away
or lost itself in sleep.
Clear, open-sensed,
I keep
an eye where a light beam
bends round the senses
at the dreamy edges.

In the slow growth, in the egg of a dream,
in purple darkness,
pushed up by root warmth,
I saw a wing
and two knurled threads
tasting my dream,
the first that did not fade.

This stayed,
sharing his compound eye.”


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The windows are broken, sir.

PM Yes, of course, but that was done yesterday!

But, sir, there is glass all over the carpet, today.

PM Yes, of course, but that will be fixed tomorrow!

And it’s raining!

PM Yes, of course, but the Chancellor is issuing discount vouchers for selected umbrellas.


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Imagine you have an audience.
(Which you have).
And people are listening to everything you say.
(Which they are).
And everything you say is being written down.
(Which it is).
And may be used in evidence against you.
(Which it will be).

Don’t you wish you could be alone?


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The pure cry of the uncomplicated child
before it has been trained
in the verbalisations of this world
is the Voice of the Eternal.

Learn from it:
that the way back to God
lies backwards beyond
and identifying
and mentifying;
that the Tree of Knowledge
shares the One Root
with the Tree of Life
but bears a very different fruit.

Taste the fruit of the Tree of Life:

For except ye be converted
and become as little children
you can by no means enter
the Kingdom of Heaven.


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is the child
of the marriage of self and body;
is the awareness of separateness
where none exists;
is the delighting in separateness,
its fearfulness and competitiveness.

It is as though each of your fingers
autonomy as of right;
an individual name,
a social security number,
an index-linked pension,
an unalienable option
to a thumb transplant;
and refused
to play the piano
in unison and harmony
unless they were granted
an equal entitlement of notes
and an equal share of calorific nourishment.

And the shop stewards, the hands,
encouraged them in this madness
and deducted a percentage of their calories
at source.


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