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Attuned to catch the distant view-halloo

Chapter Text

I find a concentrated atmosphere

begets a concentrated state of mind

and concentrated thought. Such thoughts adhere

to walls, un-cling, re-shape, and breed confined.

The logical conclusion of such thought,

of such a singular conviction is

to get into a box to think, I think.

Is such a length too far to seek what may be sought?

Too deep to plumb for man and powers his?

Once body’s bound, won’t mind push past the brink?


But man’s a boy for all that, and a box

is just a cave. Explore, escape, cocoon,

exchange this world for one less orthodox

if only for a Sunday afternoon.

Be still and I’ll be peacefully ignored,

forgotten by the world beyond thin walls.

Be quiet. No one’s looking for me—yet.

The boring, having quite mislaid the bored,

are slow to drive away abandon’s palls,

the clouds of benevolent neglect.


But boy-years pass. The man can now discern

between restraints which succor thought and bars

which cage the soul. Not so simple to learn

but worth averted madness, worth the scars.

The difference lies in whom is architect

and mason-carpenter and engineer:

puritanical them or noisome us.

The walls they impose, the walls we erect

are not the same. It’s mine, this atmosphere.

Clear the air but don’t call it poisonous.