Thursday, January 05, 2012


"A Hair perhaps divides the False and True." -- Omar Khayyam, Rubaiyat, Fitzgerald trans.

A hair; the thinnest thread, a strand
of silver spider-silk; a line of thought;
a deep imaginary scalpel-slice
across the meat of everyday. Believe,
the world is not impeccably precise
and doesn't draw the lines a surgeon's hand
should trace. Dividing false from true must leave
some ragged scar, a foot chewed off when caught
in metaphysic ankle-trap.
And still
you see them pass, the seekers. They know well
what cost they'll pay-- the sacrifice of all
illusions, scalpel, scar and fleshy veil
alike. Tightrope across the great divide,
sever that stretched-out hair and step-- outside.

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

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