The Pilgrimage: Part 4 / Phillip Neal Tippin
To survey my Babel, Babylon
To be scattered, dew’d
Fleeing Forward
Hounded and harried
From behind the time
June sallies forth
Humid helmed and swarthy
To meet the heat
Of a beast belly’s riven flame
A strawberry moon
And Saturn to boot.
I should speak rather than write
Unless writing is speaking.
I must live into some things
Quite extensively,
Quite
Science tyrannized
By Language
Language tyrannized
By science
Nobody wins this time.
When eyes are drawn
To the brink dark ink-well
Drink blackness peering
Back flows the seeping tears
That would smear the pane.
For the light looking out
Is also looking in, through.
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