Walking Blind
A Poem In Three Acts
Georges Cunningham
Act I – Semolina In Distress
Scene I – Monday Afternoon, Overcast
They told me it was night.
They told me not to fight.
They told me all was normal.
It was a bomb in my hands, melting, seething prosthetic ooze, which covers all the portholes.
Is there any light left? Can there be?
A dawn left incomplete, swirling around.
Lost.
Swallowed.
Forgotten.
Just like the horizon.
Alien and strange like a subterranean mole smiling at the demise of grand plans of the sky giants, without perceived control.
Without control.
Without control.
Without control.
Scene II – Wednesday Evening, Breezy
There is death.
There isn’t life.
There is pain.
There isn’t pleasure.
It all will rain.
It all will rain cold abandonment down with darkness and abyss.
It all will rain.
Mercilessly absolute.
It all will reign.
Act II – At Oxford, Looking For Exotic Breads
Things Of War
War Like Pigs
Pigs From Death
Death For Things
Things Like War
War From Pigs
Pigs For Death
Death Of Things
Things From War
War For Pigs
Pigs Of Death
Death Like Things
Things For War
War Of Pigs
Pigs Like Death
Death From Things
Death For Pigs
Pigs Of War
War Like Things
Things From Death
Death Of Pigs
Pigs Like War
War From Things
Things For Death
Death Like Pigs
Pigs From War
War For Things
Things Of Death
Death From Pigs
Pigs For War
War Of Things
Things Like Death
Act III – A Singular Moment Of History Remains Unperturbed By A Faint Looking Glass
Scene I – Sunday Night, Cold
There was a forest I walk through to forget the sight of earth
The dense woods of darkness encapsulating my tunnel vision, with full dirge playing in the wind.
Losing myself is my only need but I path I always find.
A clearing, a windfall, a canyon that regresses deeper
Yet still provides an escape for the accompanying woods.
I much rather light a match to see it all burn down, watching from the tallest tree, waiting for the fall
So I would be lost forever in the woods and I would bother no one, and no one would bother me
Only my bones
Only my bones
Only my bones on earth
Motionless sterile uncaring.
My bones
My lovely bones
My lovely bones
My bones
Scene II – Thursday Morning, Thunderstorm
There will never be, there will always be
A strong and unrelenting duality
Covering the womb and veil.
I look upon the moor
Can the moor look upon me?
I breathe and exhale routinely.
A fleeting notion came upon me as I saw myself watching my reflection in a mirror
A vision opened my mind to the limitlessness of the universe,
Of the scope of human consciousness, and the depth of meaning of words, numbers, and symbols
Everything shone in the beauty of the moment.
I felt as if a spiritual plasma acted as a cloud and carried me to the upper echelons of experience
I saw everything as a sphere of collected events, individual yet communal, all spun from the same length if yarn.
It flowed over me and I flowed through it. My eyes opened and couldn’t close.
I sat in front of myself in front of the mirror for what felt like 704 years.
Everything I wanted, everything I needed was there.
Then, a spasm, and a blink. It snapped back and shot me down upon the barren earth.
I opened my eyes to nothing.