The light at the end of the tunnel will be a train
At which point you will wake up a second last time

If you trust your eyes
You’ll live

If you trust the Logos
You’ll prosper

If you trust Logic
Blindness and Hope will both perish

Salome came of some 205 pages in a poppy-Red Book
Black Snakes will continue to talk
If you’re just young
Together tandem in totem and tied in taboo

If you trust your imagination
You are hallucinating

If you trust your separations
You are a dualist

If you see this as an afterthought
You weren’t premeditated

Just don’t trust what you hear of Philemon, mad man
We’ll meet again in Coney Island one last time

Go back to sleep.

September 23, 2012 | Filed under Archive, In Rhythm, Prose.