Baroque Account

Sometimes
— when the boats of their senses' beat
against the ever-swelling cliff
of a fragrance that's still open
to fantastic beasts
            and plants that
            shot through with fear
            between the sea's blue and the blue of the sky
            are a sheer metaphor —
sometimes desire flames up in people so high
that they tackle the flimsy boat
and take to sea
the wind plays a delusion in the sails
            an old delusion that lies
            in a slump beyond the horizon
            till the wind has blown the hull to bits
            and from the pieces wafts the wine of the delusion
            this old delusion
None knows the SOS beyond the senses' horizon
and that at the bottoms of our souls there are antennae
that pick up only the vibrations
from beyond
Sometimes the urge will force the dream into a shape
and the body turns to dream

~ Paul van Ostaijen


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