Friday, June 13, 2008


You Found It
(Godboxing: A Dialogue)

Is it the function of art
Or just the urge to kill
That causes you to limit,
To collect specimens,
To pin me and God,
Wriggling, to the wall?
"Something there is that doesn't love"
A box.
I don't know about God but I want

I am confined as you
By flesh and bone,
Tied to what is, and escape
Only by creation.
But creation involves loosings
And bindings anew--
Confinings anew?
Each surrounding wall
Has two sides.

In the box I don't mind
Darkness so much.
In the box there are surfaces
(Up, down, floors, ceilings, I don't know)
On which to lean.
But I've burned my boxes
And can't go back
(such a garden as it was).

A loosing and a binding,
The ultimate confinement
Outside walls which can't be broken.
In a different box, I am
Bound by my words
Which I have given you.

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