the only greater justice
   that i could ever know,
would be to pass
from my flimsy grip
        of the world,
         into iron clutches
of a higher esteem
    than my own for what
has been written
     by my callousness.
long gone are the days
of passing into folklore,
or to pass as an erosion
of memory in common song
in celebration of
          some event that
pleases the people,
              and the state.
perhaps akin to Hölderlin
passing into a patriarchal
***** of Heidegger -
or what can be said in ancient
tongue - toward the misty
ocular eternity:
        toward a Homeric
                                third eye
of blindness: from all
the phantasmagorical ambitions
of man, having been
   exposed to the shamanic
yet still returning to
the troughs of grey and boorish
affairs of monetary leverages:
as ever - wishing upon
Archimedes' joke of a pound(£) -
settled on a gamble for
                   the grand wish of
   using a pound(£) as a lever -
to tickle Mammon into coughing
up riches.