Long ago and far away, a man went astray,
Thin as a hair and as ample as the dawn's glow,
With foaming nostrils, with both eyes rolled-back away,
And both hands held outstretched to feel the whole tableau
-- anyways that's all fake. But what is, do you think,
The significance of this next metaphor though:
"Thin as a hair and as ample as the dawn's glow"
And why the nostrils out of all the other links?
If I speak of time, it is as not yet said
If I speak of place, it has just been displaced
If I speak of man, he is already dead
If I speak of time, its already not placed
If I speak of space, the heavens will there destroy
If I speak of years, they will annihilate
If I listen in silence, the heavens will cloy
And these repeated cries cannot me ablate
Since these heavens infernal, crawl within the space
Thin as a hair and ample as the dawn's glow,
With foaming nostrils and slobber upon their face,
And both hands held outstretched for to seize a tableau
-- anyways that's all fake. But what is, do you think,
The significance of this next metaphor though:
"Thin as a hair and ample as the dawn's glow,"
And thus, why the face out of all the other links?
If I speak of gods, they will cover the sea
With their weight infinite, with their flight immortal
If I speak of gods, haunted the air will be
If I speak of gods, they will be perpetual
If I speak of gods, they'll live under debris
Their enduring breath instilled within the sun,
If I speak of gods, they'll there incubate steel
Amassing charcoal and distilling cinnabar.
Heavenly or infernal? They fill all of time,
Thin as a hair and ample as the dawn's glow,
With broken bloodshot eyes and with foaming nostrils,
And both hands held outstretched for to seize a tableau,
-- anyways that's all fake. But what is, do you think,
The significance of this next metaphor though:
"Thin as a hair and ample as the dawn's glow,"
And why the outstretched hands of all the other links?
Yes, these are infernal. One descends, another rises
Every night its day, each mount its valley
Every day its night, each tree its shadow
Every is is-not, each good ends badly
Yes, these are reflections, images negative
They agitate themselves like immobility
They throw to the void multiplicity active
And compose a double of complete verity.
Not heavenly nor infernal the man gone astray
Thin as a hair and as ample as the dawn's glow,
With foaming nostrils, with both eyes rolled-back away,
And both hands held outstretched to feel the whole tableau
-- anyways that's all fake. He has gone astray;
He is not quite thin, nor is he quite so ample:
Overly twisted muscles, bare of saliva
Calmness returns to him when he sees the Temple
Its for assuring his true eternity.
