tiresias

and I had foresuffered it all

by the waters of leman as I wept

recorded by an inquisitive poet;

but to what relief? where

has all this knowing taken me?

to wriggle aimlessly

to try to nest a move

in the ferrets of time's

consuming net,

to reach no purpose

for in my attempts

i solely found myself

breathing the excruciating air

of the mail stretching to close

over me with renewed temper;

and what was the meaning

of disturbing the undisturbed

coiling of the two snakes

two blending lovers in one feature

to be hidden by cutting sight,

to know of within an orgasm

the typist and the clerk's side?

i walk with all i have known

among the ripples that steps fade in, 

but I miss the figure

that could have given to all

a form beyond the need

to find voice for suffering_

what was my mistake then

that keeps hunting me in my fear

to beg redemption?

it must have been

the same mistakes that stains

the faces that mark me with scorn;

I can read on their brow

the same accent that animated

my judgment_

that same blank stare

that has already decided

the roles that experiences

will be schematized in;

there is no real

discovery in what simply happens,

in knowing a person,

in sharing a roof and a bed,

everything is already settled

in the mind the sees itself

mystified in wisdom,

blinding itself

to the differences that being wrong

                                makes.