From this collection: http://members.cox.net/rodisrocks/earlymetric.htm
I love repeating myself
In nonsense delirium;
I'm becoming a nonself
Or an inaudible gulf
In fleeting et ceterum.
I love repeating myself
Like a reiterant proof
In a pandemonium;
I'm becoming a nonself
Dropped in a river: a leaf
Outside of a museum.
I love repeating myself
As if I weren't just half
Of an imperfect pantoum.
I'm becoming a nonself
In this composite of stuff
Lacking cadence and rhythm.
I love repeating myself;
I'm becoming a nonself.
When I am done talking about my Self
And tune my ears so humbly to an other
Whose music and whose mode I am subject
As consequence of the Creator's object,
I fault before the splendor of their art
And celebrate my bound, reflected being.
The magic of our talk and of our being
Is far beyond the finish of a Self,
Or so I have been taught by all the art:
The increase, benefaction of an other
That's placed within a material object
And has our love and vanity as subject.
The sighs of life to which I am subject
Are revealed as the universal being
Of suffering to which none may object;
To weep is no affliction bound to Self,
We apprehend our presence in an other
And in so doing gladly we find art.
With our imagination we may art
A Universe where no one is subject
To the hate and violence of an other;
We may image in verse the well-being
Of manifold vibrations of the Self
And cherish our idealized object.
To this only divisives may object
And with their schism doctrine build an art
That engenders a decadence of Self
And makes those without power thus subject
To the limit of their private being:
A distinct and uncompromised other.
It's when we find release in love of other
(Moksha and rest: Enlightenment's object)
And thus unify our disparate being
That separation then creates an art
That we then view or hear as a subject
Within our individuated Self.
This dissolution of the Self is art:
The union of the subject and the object
Makes music of our being with an other.
i love you!
lanaquin1 5 months ago