21.
In what framework do we act,
In what matrix lies our being?
Easy lies the muddled head on
its age's pillow, from which
glib answers come at night
to match the daytime puzzlings,
always with this reward:
Act thus, speak thus, and
you will succeed;
never mind the suffering you
know or cause. Hard answers
come too at night but from no
"Home, Sweet Home" embroidered
headrest. Come, promising:
Slight escape, moderate sur
cease, and for the faithful
few, calligraphic soul muscles,
from placeless places that nei
ther you nor I nor William Blake
even could sing about in this
golden cage, this time mine, this
this of trickiest tendrils
and meta-NSF argle-bargling
god-lovers, angel-phlegm gargling
god-haters, and infinite silver
tortoises with fresh blue worlds
perched chipperly on their clois
onée backs. And still the cher
ub stands before God.
