the coast blinded by science
What
if thinking it through was ever enough to expose truth
all the effort all the wrangling and surreptitious posing
while bathers get sanctified for the future end
that recedes the closer you get the farther it goes
away yes that’s what he means goads away oh
if it’s all just a big mistake a reading of it sleeping
wrongly just supposing ingratitude lies cons where they
never grew among the fishermen and songsters up and down
the coast where all lived among the heathen savages dolled up
counting days on saturnine calendars revealing places where
the martyr is bulled through the streets of d’iberville until
well you know the end oh
if that’s not all not by a long shot just look red-eyed go on
at the evidence chiseled into hydrocarb pungent swamp marl
at the fishcamp the refuge from dangeroso tweeters and bloggers
miscreants all who pour hot bile upon cold acidity claiming
righteousness and goodness far into the unforeseeable
future whirled without end denying the tomes the massive
countereffects explained in lost texts still unrecovered yet
dreaded locked and credited with miraculous powers snagged
like mutant mullet in the nets spun out upon the toxic waters oh
if what blameless credences all did pursue pondering where
endless sheaves of spikenard and fennel foxglove and oleander
would lead pressed there upon the bosom of francis every
brother and sister squandering wagered detoxed salvation
transmigration doctored and medicated as if perfumed radiant
clouds might transport all pain and joy to the alien cyborg spies
hiding in boneyards of the unseen craters of the moon oh
if where oh where has my little dream gone and all who gape and
fret unable to calm turbid waters where the flying mullet play oh
.
Photograph by Diana Young.
studio arago 