Water Slicing Through Stone



Like a watch face in a Dali landscape

the force of love droops over the altar

no commitment no intention

can raise the lethargic lover

above the hostile terrain

he has been thrown into the world

Dasein being-unto-death

if this is his battle then love

carries no ammunition against

its languid foes spread as far

as the pudgy brown mountains

smudging the broken horizon


I have trod the warrior’s trail

skirmishing with ennui

with the sense of no sense the vortex

of absurdity and valor no trope

strong enough to kiss the enemy

goodbye this is a delicate battle

power comes from the Tao wu wei

wears down the opposition as water

slices through stone gradually doggedly

caressing the weakest point

with a basket of inaction save

for the flow against solidity the river shapes

the canyon gaping like an open wound


Who will reinforce the fighter as his faith breaks down

the map must be redrawn

mountains must be laid low rough places made plain

victory in instinct habit the dance of indirection

let us bow down to its inimitable force

a glancing blow to what intimidates the will

but withers from the gaze of the inward seer

who moves against only by moving for

his action unfurling like a mountain stream

gently overflowing its banks spreading

across the meadow toward the towering cairn

that marks the way of the messenger

carrying his ink-stained victory treaty


Inertia winds the surrealist’s watch setting

the time for nowhere for nothing rigid

and exact only the amorphous life force

that moves toward its telos the final goal

of conquest gained from not conquering

slowly grinding down all obstacles in its path

approaching its apotheosis as the second hand

ticks effortlessly into minutes into hours Into days

into nights into eternity still irresistible

still the triumphant trickle toward the towering foe

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