Entering, he felt like Theseus,
Remembering his obligations
Awakening his awareness
That he would betray them
The world he came to
Contained an infinity of mazes.
Where, in all this complexity,
Could he ever find the Minotaur?
Inside there was a labyrinth of mirrors,
Where every aspect of his being
Would inescapably be subjected to exposure.
It is the unexpected at whose mercy we are indentured.
Revelation is a short-cut: reasoning’s antithesis;
As much a reflection of shadows as it is of reality,
That the creature he sought was a kind of transcendental passion,
Pure and simple, a denigration of the material.
How does one separate oneself from these images,
These impulses? Smashing mirrors to smithereens
Only locks them in more securely,
Makes one’s imagination the prisoner.
Inevitably he had to close doors, lock them
Out of his consciousness, a shuddering denial of insatiable desire,
A revelation that to destroy is to be destroyed, that such a preterhuman
Monstrosity could never be his achievement.