“It mush rush forward
and express itself by works.
It is there by necessity
and does not excite inquiry:
it is also by nature not finite,
has no limits:
can be circumscribed by no conditions
and definitions;
cannot be reasoned of;
except musically,
or in the language of Poetry,
cannot yet so much
as be spoken of.”
Oh, undoubting Thomas, I must disagree:
No state holds infinity,
and any anarchist
will inquire and dissent.
Stationary hermits survive alone, barely
in communion with their home monasteries:
Their confinement, though solitary,
is voluntary.
Such ones may for their works be known,
if at all known,
but not for some Grail
they manufactured or installed.
Everything has its borders,
its somethings beyond its rules and order,
its undictionarieddefinitions.
its darker-matter constellations
existing in its withins and withouts:
They hide inside the telescopes,
below the blood.
They have no poems, no formulas.
They cannot be noted or spoken of.
.
Duane Vorhees
.