Nathaniel Tarn At the Metropolitan, Third Byzantium

alligatorzine | zine

In the ferocious city
a million people,
a million faces
in front of him –
where is the "other" ?
A hundred "hearts" here on the floor,
a hundred "minds" exploded at the walls,
a hundred "souls" beggaring the ceiling
the sky suspected through.
The "other" lying dead
on his embroidered shroud.
Through the vast windows
a rain of rain and blood,
leaves bright, blossoms already falling.

Was not able perhaps
          ab initio
to detach himself as a unit
from the great belly circle
          enwombing the light,
going ahead toward the "all"
(instead of back from it
          into the "one")
where he would always be lost
memoryless in arcadia
among all available paths
and thus disconsolate
          a whole life through
for so little reason...

Archangel of perception
in the vestments of "beauty,"
          the perfect being seen
          represented in stone:
sudden inrush of the "one,"
co-presence of all signifying
          always surrounding him
          but in the shadows.
Yes the shock of the wave
returning to his face, his memory,
nothing remains to be talked about
          anywhere, anymore,
peak of "silence" seemingly reached,
"wisdom" attained, its unearthly comfort.

Nothing stays
in its pure state,
          the names are drowned
in a storm of quotes.
Things – matter – once beautiful
dragged from their contexts
          losing a brightness,
gaining a pallor. The "temple"
bought and sold. No matter matter.
He is afraid for once,
very close to fainting.
As close to fainting,
so close to fainting,
now copy of a copy of a copy...

This material is © Nathaniel Tarn

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