1
I look on what I’d created.
The glittering wheel I forged
hangs on my necklace,
the wheel a circular ladder
on which people forever
are below, above,
the wheel housing success and failure,
people consumed by the wheel.
I look on what I’d done,
turning children of the One I despise,
into warring fragments, or bursting foam,
forgetfulness of the still, oceanic depths,
their fetish the symbols, the countless images.
The virtual reality they’d come to relish,
the cat-like images curling about them,
the fragments’ conviction they are free
individuals flow as faces of my vim
smiling satisfaction at my vivisection.
I look on what I had done.
It is very good – for in furthering
fragmentation I’m getting back at the One,
in feeding competition, hierarchies,
I spit in the face of the One.
2
I look on what I hadn’t done.
The glittering wheel people forged
hangs on the necklace worn
around the neck of their ignorance
as irresponsibility tries and tries
to pin the misery on me,
the wheel a circular ladder
on which people forever
are below, above,
the wheel housing success and failure,
people consumed by the wheel.
I look on what I hadn’t done.
The warring fragments, or bursting foam,
forgetfulness of the still, oceanic depths,
will return still richer to their home,
their ignorance still embedded within
ever-widening clarity.
These two movements – the outspread wings
of some large bird cawing, cawing,
two interpretations circling within
a canyon, chasm of jagged, rocky white,
a bird amid countless other birds,
foam, feast of echoes within the rocky white.
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