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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476459" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>All This Stuff</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">All this stuff going on in my head all the time.<br>All my fixed constellations changing like fireflies.<br>All the burning ladders of my unsuccessful siege of heaven<br>lying down like crosswalks at the feet of the mob.<br>And the stars that seemed so aloof and untouchable <br>settling like dust on my eyes. <br>I want to go home but home itself is gone<br>and there is no one waiting for me.<br>I live in these nomadic tents of my breath <br>that the wind blows through day and night <br>and everything I touch<br>though I long for the will of a pyramid<br>turns into quicksand.<br>I observe the life within me going on, <br>this flux of intimate intensities <br>as if I were no more than the container <br>and sentient window of a stranger's house <br>looking in out of the darkness<br>of my uninhabitable homelessness<br>that has always been my last known address.<br>Nothing is ever what it seems <br>in this shell-game of themes and memes<br>that shuffles me around like a hard pea <br>gullible enough to deceive itself <br>it might one day turn into <br>the new moon of a black pearl.<br>But I'm chained by my vertebrae to a slaver <br>in a caravan of all my wild sides <br>being dragged like a jungle <br>toward these civilized coasts<br>that put everything asunder <br>that God has joined together <br>and brand what they sever <br>with the savage logos of an enforced belonging<br>that death is the only escape from.<br>My private cloud of unknowing <br>with the occasional black lightning bolt of insight<br>that sets my roots on fire <br>so that the whole tree becomes its own funeral pyre<br>and sheds me in flames. <br>And trying to fit me like a shoe <br>to the newly washed foot of God <br>is a vain waste of time for both of us <br>when you're life's got a hole in it<br>I keep patching with poems in the cold<br>or keep stopping along the way to take off <br>and dump out the pebble of the world <br>I'm walking on with a limp. <br>And it's as foolish for a river <br>to ask where its youth has gone <br>as it is for me to lament the passage of mine<br>that I sent on up ahead like water <br>to keep something flowing behind me.<br>I don't look for grey hairs in the wind <br>when it's as clear as grace<br>that time and space <br>don't encroach upon the stars like cataracts<br>and everyone we've ever been <br>lives on in each of us forever <br>like water waiting in the open mouth <br>of the frozen moonskull<br>for me to swallow and thaw<br>so that the blossom can flesh the dead branch again<br>that trembles and bends before the wishing well <br>that all men drink from like a bell<br>in this mirage of fire in a desert of stars<br>to taste the lightning-tongued elixirs of life<br>that frees the serpent from its scars <br>like a discarded straitjacket of skin and pain<br>to go witching for water in hell again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476459" data-title="All This Stuff de Patrick White" data-description="All this stuff going on in my head all the time.
All my fixed constellations changing like fireflies.
All the burning ladders of my unsuccessful siege of heaven
lying down like crosswalks at the feet of the mob.
And the stars that seemed so aloof ..."></div>
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