Some would always say, "Store not your treasures
upon earth where the weak moth may corrupt."
Ah, but store them where you like, the measures
will decay. I think physics be abrupt
to rebut your soft-boiled definition
of information as a poem or thought.
Only piss-uselessness they save from nought -
momentum, spin. They won't quite Finnegan*.
I stored deepest treasures mid women's thighs.
My, how we cried and laughed and sluiced all through;
but when it came to bless those beams goodbye,
displeasure biled o'er*, roiled to bitter rue.
I'd do it all again to spite dark fate,
curse my own last breath that makes me late.
......................
*Finnegan's Wake - I defy Physics to proceed from fundamental forces and gauge fields - their only ontology - to Finnegan's Wake, step by step. Eng. Lit. Crit. will live a long time yet, as will all disciplines in their apt domains - Chemistry for one, for starters. In a certain case of supervenience explaining the brain may not explain the mind, and certainly will not explain phenomenological consciousness - or more crudely, looking locally at magnetic domains may not explain the alignments at large - and that is true. I wonder if, somewhere along this para, I might be attempted to be pegged as an idealist?
*'Biled' as in to do with bile and yet an English local slang version of 'boiled'.
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Under The Wings
Poetry.Under the Wings of the Egyptian and world-wide respected Goddess, Isis. Poems of Nature, Inner Resonance and Mythology.
