of stupidity: not the economy
so much, the numbing it out;
but estimate of the ungiving in matter, solid.
Lack in gaiety
from the door you blunder you blunder against
when you forget
or treat it as function
for shutting-out cold, for opening-in air.
Answering to gravity
of self —heavy body’s sense
of Id-self among objects,
who are not itself, but essence, un-
sonorous off the thickness of it, the
clumsiness of it afoot, blunder-
adroit against incomprehensible
worlds, tactful to its heavy tact,
in an individual among the undivideds.
© Clive Faust