Sad penguin stands and stares at the goats
Thinks language
is getting to be a problem
Somebody, somebody, somebody
said something like that
(Would I face the guns of avarice)
It isn’t if you’re already limited
More than language is limiting.
(There is no bravery in words
I might be a book, a book I might be)
Can action precede thought
thinks sad penguin alone
To be and to do simultaneously
Like maybe a phucking goat would
So bright lights are dimmed
And the dull have unreined in freedom
If I were a wave (just imagining here)
Instead of a wingless bird
Flightless, flightless, effin flightless
(remember – got wings, got wings)
bird would I be more undefined
though ocean bound, not tied, cleaving
away from my own I am
Like a goat is fully into doing
Utter doingness
And thus, thinned out thought infinitely
(and smashed bravery unconsciously..)
And so joined forces with being.
But I in my turn, am full penguinness now
For all cases of penguin always
followed the eggs that were us to be
Except where all time happens at once
(thought leads nowhere some..
some phucking what)
Like infinity is everywhere all the time
(And hatches nothing;
but what has been always?
Oh senile God)
So Bravery simply occurs then?
And washes on.
A hungry bear approaches.
By the summer I’ll be gone
I am a book, a book am I
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem