The twenty-seven year bore

Ma, I’ve seen these dreams before,

from afar and terrifyingly up-close.

Seen them lived, shaken and faked,

fought for and perfectly dead;

their safety, their surety, their script

their sanity, their reality, their conceit-

I’m sorry but it’s been nothing more

but a twenty-seven year bore.

Even the truths of prophets

become unremarkable wrongs

if the taste of their proving has been

left unsavoured for long.

So when the hurricane comes flying by,

I will  get swept along,

to relearn every meaninglessness

to turn their rubbish to gold

and the weight of everything forgotten

drags me to the centre of earth.

I will return swimming in wounds

just to assure you

that, the thing we both secretly wondered about

is really true.

               

 

1921, Paul Gauguin-his life and art; Paul Gauguin. New York, N. L. Brown.

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