It Is a Country

bon bon il est un pays:

all right all right there’s a land

where forgetting where forgetting weighs

gently upon worlds unnamed

there the head we shush it the head is mute

and one knows no but one knows nothing

the song of dead mouths dies

on the shore it has made its voyage

there is nothing to mourn

my loneliness I know it oh well I know it badly

I have the time is what I tell myself I have time

but what time famished bone the time of the dog

of a sky incessantly paling my grain of sky

of the climbing ray ocellate trembling

of microns of years of darkness

you want me to go from A to B I cannot

I cannot come out I’m in a traceless land

yes yes it’s a fine thing you’ve got there a mighty fine thing

what is that ask me no more questions

spiral dust of instants what is this the same

the calm the love the hate the calm the calm

Samuel Beckett.