Looking for a way out of this box 


I do not want to lose the box 


Or the thing that thinks and feels 


And searches to escape. 



“Everything is infused with ego,” 


Said Dr. Freud and gave Bill Clinton his cigar 


Who wondered what to do with the burning tip 


And closed his ears when told, 


“Just smoke the damn thing!” 



This is a sign of our age. 


We do not know what to do with symbols 


And suck on them for significance 


When they are just there to feed us 


Not lead us to victory 


In the battle against evil. 



But in the grand vista of the wide world 


The puny concerns of mere mortals 


Have no effect and are no more real than smoke 


To the concrete and solid pleasures of power. 


It sits in the centre of existence like a vacuum 


That devours everything and yet 


Makes it all whirl, revolving towards the 


Inevitable end of complete destruction. 




Oh if only we could pass through that singularity 


And emerge newborn and shorn of loss, 


And lambs and lions could plow the earth 


Without end or purpose. 


And still we would be whole, 


The green earth repairing every scar we inflicted 


And forgiveness would flow over us like a flood 


Til we drowned in our own innocence 


And drank it all like the Chinese brother 


Who imbibed the sea. 


Expanding like a balloon 


And filled with the loss of guilt 


We would float away into the nothingness that 


We were always searching for. 



And just before the conscious thought would leave us 


Just before the box and the thing that thinks would disappear 


We would know that hope and despair are the same, 


Different angles of viewing 


What is after all, all we have: 


Our life and what happens in it.