A Call To Arms

Let us not think;
We have been thinking long hours.
The confines of our consciousness yellowed with retention,
Creased with labour -
It has been arduous, it has been painful.
let us not think;
Our minds have been narrowed with the day's dark reckoning.
We must open again, and in a gasp of warm stupor
Engulf ourselves.


Let us not act;
Let us not act as we "ought", for in that "ought",
There lies a hateful spirit.
As in the pale ignorance of a salient church bell's clamour
We chasten our unripe mastery.
Let us not act;
Blunt and ungainly, let us stammer and stumble
And bathe ourselves in kaleidoscope static,
And paratactic - Action, to us,
Will come.


Let us not feel;
May the air thicken with narcotic numbness.
In the wake of regimented daylight hours,
Guided by sense,
Let our senses hang mute beneath the whirling folds of our motley vestiments.
Let us not feel;
Emotion is as a caustic on the spirit.
Abstain - and may the perspiring closeness of anaesthesia
Inhale us.


Our self dissolution imports interaction,
So we melt and we mould
To uphold our abstraction.
Thus passive, and pursed, and glowing with pleasure,
Let the dumb and the dull and the drunk take their measure -
And let us not think.
Nor act, nor feel.
For when we are beyond thought, command and feeling, what pleasures await us
In the warrens of our misshapen madness. To drink!