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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476546" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Double Full Moons In The Thermal Panes Across The Street</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Double full moons in the thermal panes across the street, <br>elaborate fractals of disproportionate replicates<br>in a seasick multiverse warped by the aging ripples of the glass. <br>I see Li Po drowning in all of them trying to embrace <br>the euphemistic screening myth of his suicide. I don't think <br>a lotus bloomed where he died, but Jesus has a star <br>where he was born, so let's put one there anyway <br>for a man who sang and drank and chanced his path <br>through life because no one offered him a job as a bureaucrat.<br>I love the double entendres of the unadorned. <br>How the waterlilies land like migrating swans<br>in the wetlands of the windows, and don't expect to drown <br>like Narcissus in the mirrors of their own reflections.<br>But then I'm not in the habit of looking at things <br>like the emergency mentor of telescopes that suffer <br>nervous breakdowns looking for their third eye among the stars<br>as if it were interred in neuronic masses of black matter<br>and you could uproot it like a grail quest for ginseng <br>in the deep woods of Lanark County if you know where to look. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night hot and humid and totally unmotivated, <br>all the windows open, and a big fan sword dancing above my head<br>waiting for the thorax of the rest of the helicopter to show up, <br>all revved up like a propeller without a flight path to anywhere, <br>I'm Zen-duelling in the acephalic shadows <br>of my hydra-headed anti-selves <br>for the lack of better company<br>until the muse of my solitude shows up <br>like a knock on the door of my coffin without <br>expecting a cogently analogous answer.<br>I write her long loveletters of cedar-scented smoke <br>I conjure from the ancestral inkwells <br>of my penumbral black holes to express<br>the excruciating loneliness of my singularity in eclipse.<br>In the intense heat of frog-rutting desire <br>black orchids bloom in the all-consuming fire <br>of an heretical apostate trying to burn <br>his God-particles into the wavelengths<br>of the photonic discharge of the rainbow bodies <br>of the highest Himalayan rinpoches as if <br>the sherpas of the Book of the Dead <br>were way over their heads like clouds <br>in the mountains of the moon without an atmosphere. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Easy in public to master the mot juste of a scalpel <br>you can use to nip and tuck the flabby psyches<br>of the less beautiful among your friends, but alone, <br>it's different to divest a ventriloquist of your life-mask <br>and express yourself in a secret grammar as twisted <br>as the sensibilities of the evil jesters of the times are <br>in the fun-filled halls of the judicious mirrors <br>that can only recognize you by the accent of your tears. <br>To bring a gravitational eye to your unworthy affairs<br>and bend space into conformity with the magic rituals <br>of a black mass in an asylum of acquiescent pharmaceuticals. <br>Not to talk to yourself as if you were enamelling buttercups <br>with imaginative projections, or immolating blue hydrogen <br>like wild irises breaking out like insurgent firestorms <br>along the mindstream of your vagrant waywardness<br>as if off the path were the way of the path as far as you can go<br>without turning into the template of a preconceivable destination. <br>But to see how the full moon shines in a thousand lakes, <br>a thousand thermal-paned windows, a thousand and one eyes <br>and a mystical number of poets drowning like a multiverse<br>in every one of them, or conversely, the moon, <br>as must happen in the infinite waterclocks of time, <br>sinking like a pearl of nacreous wisdom<br>through myriad incarnations of Li Po letting go <br>like blossoms and poems scattering before the fruit <br>of their inexhaustible enterprise ripening into a windfall of eyes.</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=476546" data-title="Double Full Moons In The Thermal Panes Across The Street de Patrick White" data-description="Double full moons in the thermal panes across the street, 
elaborate fractals of disproportionate replicates
in a seasick multiverse warped by the aging ripples of the glass. 
I see Li Po drowning in all of them trying to embrace 
the euphemistic ..."></div>
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