Man is a Psychic Snail

Man is a psychic snail.

A mental mollusc,

the worm builds its shell

with calciferous discrete memory

gird by strings of solid time.

The wising whelk

shelters itself from the unintelligible,

cutting out and off

the unacceptable

and the undigestible

and the impenetrable –

the Truth with its capital.

Nautiloid chamber, curling into itself,

possibilities confined, but wide

enough for one life, at least.

How to get out when everything is inside?

How to see out when your ‘matophorae can’t reach?

How to think out, when your brain is bound by threads

stronger and lighter than the finest ‘rachnids’?

Better to retreat

Pull back into your shell

Hide your soft body

From the Alkaline that scalds

Hide your soft mind

From the Truth that splinters.

Squirrel away your moments

and horde your minutes

and pile your instants.

Clutch them with your paw –

They are your grounding.

Clutch them with your mind

They are your strength.

You travel through this Abyssal life

Blind

and Deaf

and Dumb.

Don’t look up

and

Don’t let go.

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Posted on August 27, 2014, in Pink Poesy and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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