Canto V


Supposing you had to go down for an ideal

Take a fall for the underworld, well, better if

For love. I suspect eternity gets lonesome—

Especially after those first couple hundred

Years of worshipping the same old guy.

Better creation takes on a life of its own.

Better to float free of authorial designs.

Better to avoid deifying our egos.

Remove sin and guilt from the tyrannical urge;

For what other purpose do they piggyback on

Our divinest impulse, evolved to innovate

If not to arrest that joyous aspect in death,

When carnality adds as much flavor to life

As corporality does form to the formless.


Rather there’s something more logically effortless

In that kind of understanding which draws the brain

To reason, just as any complimentary

Substance has within its own nature to attract.

Seemingly distinctive components in swirling

Into a selfsame substance dually united,

Betray no metaphysical boundary through which

Existence seeks atonement for the creation

Of itself. But rather steeped inside this process

Emanate from that same bottomless origin

Seeded in everything. For reasons which doubtless

Seem underwhelming to the technocratic mind

Conditioned by religious and scientific

Doctrines to discriminate all dark from all light.


Analyzing spirit out of the material

Or reducing incarnation into such dirt,

Demanding an extravagant, convoluted

Explication of what becomes on the one hand

Man-forged fantasies we frame in rejection of

The natural world; on the other—only that—slabs

To be drawn into quarters underneath sterile

Machinery, systematically dissected

By rational, unfeeling objectivity.

Our strange existence actually seems much stranger

Than any one unifying theory permits,

Therefore passing fluid through all rigid dogmas,

Perplexes in regards to absolute certainty


Being funneled in one progressive direction.

Infinity multifaceted regresses

Forward exponentially like a crystalline

Mandala weaving threads of an epic romance

Hybridity of mysticism and physics,

The overlap where matter mixes with spirit

Reducible to some determined principle

Yet validating illogic in the process.

This way human creatures are made wild by love

Prone to its fits. Even sacrificing for it

Self, what’s to perpetuate in our genetics

Life for life’s sake. A classic literary bind—

The undying devotion to a force in flux.

Divine fools willingly walking into ruin

All for love alone. Even for only the thought


Fighting the elements in an uphill battle,

Not at all for power or money or glory

Or for holy retribution, or salvation

Or patriotism, creed or revolution,

But for something more like lust crossed with chivalry,

Aesthetic sensitivity mixed with hardness.

The camaraderie of cosmic mates in combat—

Interdependent love between poet and muse,

That is to say, my interpretation of it—

Understanding all is one giant performance

After another, through which we express our means

Towards cultivating significance by the end,

Making out of the primordial chaos our art

Noblest of which is purely to love for love’s sake.


I am floored considering the number of times

Instances of following my heart down into

This abyss recurred, simultaneous pillars

Of awe, terror, enlightenment, insanity

And bliss implying spiritual anarchism,

But how just enough time elapses in between

For the liberated mind to be pried open

Again for colonization by consensus

Like the material of extrasensory

Vision was after all erroneous data,

However being irreducible, compounds

Confusion over how best to be skeptical,

Therefore binding interminably the seeking

Faculty to fruitless ping-ponging in a void.


What other choice did we have but to carry on

Lubricating a system enforcing stasis

To push forward these same differentiations

Constructing the vehicles of our own contempt

Until what time was exactly no longer drove

In fear born of death’s irreversibility,

Dated arbitrarily for structural claims

To authority over what ebbs solidly,

As formlessly organized as the ocean mass

But yielded, through synchronic experiences

Enough concretely strange evidence to suggest

That what we once granted as commonsense notions

About the nature of things in particular

Excludes this important caveat: namely we

All have the power to construct reality.


The way things are, objective reality, is

By no means as fixed a concept as the powers

That be need people to believe; yet surely a

Positivist, or conservative thinker tends

To mock such assertions as idealistic

Posturing from more stoical perspectives to

Extol the threat of revolutionary change,

Desperate for reinforcing positions that all

Must operate according to rarified laws,

Otherwise our decadent, animal nature

Will be unleashed; what is now only held at bay

By tenuous complicity with governments

Thus making of pious allegiance to rulers

A noble virtue of the most high. Of course a

Corner stone of power serving propaganda,


A tenet of slave morality. Intellect

Becomes as much a tool of the powerful as

Ignorance when authoritative argument

Persuades us of the value of hierarchies,

Seeking to secure our conviction in the lie

By appeal to a belief in superiors;

To fear anarchism, direct democracy;

Essentially to fear legitimate freedom

But maintain a fetishistic love of elites. . .

Don’t assume however that you will benefit

From understanding this, as the sad fact is, some

Truths are clearly unprofitable. They will be

Squashed by those who, in order to maintain power,

Never invest in the power to liberate


All of humanity. The idea of freedom

Across the board, no longer exclusive to one

Lucky nation, or demographic or elect,

But to the world over is called utopian

By establishment critics who denigrate with

This pejorative term the possibility,

Favoring instead a fear infested worldview

Enabling of the lesser of two evils bid

For tyranny. When in truth, at the root of both

Evils, lies a two headed snake with its body

In the shadows, whereby the direction of light

Is controlled, and its propagandistic tendrils

Confuse the mind into believing each head was

But a separate phenomenon in the first place.


In addition to these preconditions of fear

Pathologically inclined to be arrogant

We build up towering egoist monuments

Reflective of our slavish, schismatic fusions

Of certainty with doubt. Obscuring the whole of

Infinity through individualizing
Aspects into collectivized stacks; disconnect

Becoming an impenetrable shade of mist

Constructing the slums of more truthful perspectives

Facing ridicule, outside of the official

Domain; or are strangled in conceptual bed,

Those ideas impressed with radical, seeking sense

Dying premature, ignoble deaths upon social

Platforms. Insignificant among other more

Pertinent, superficially designed moments

Discontenting everyone in happy darkness.