So truth I speak
and know
for long that jest
and misery await
the one who dares
and forget self
and say
no compromise with fact--
since fact
erases self
and more and is
the magic sign
which brings
the Universe to naught.

For wealth can live alone
by mirroring a lie
and thus it is
with all things thick
and wide.
You are a spirit, then,
you Man, and not a Man
at all.
You are a spirit and you dwell
within the guts of mortal beast.

You have been eaten and your dreams,
and you
that cannot perish have
beguiled yourself
to perish with
the thought
that perish then you do.

You are a spirit, then
a god,
full capable
of making space
and energy and time
and all things well.
And there you crouch, forgotten
to yourself and hidden from
the eyes of all
pretending there to be
a beast
that walks and eats and dies.

You are a Man?
Then what
is Man,
this paradox
that baffles even he?
He is a beast
that walks upright
and thinks
he thinks--
but then this is not all.
He is a spirit
guiding to a beast,
who sees the way
before
the legs
and leads
to higher peaks of
honor and of
love.
For think you that a beast can give
his word
or love much else
than belly and to breed?

Who are you, Man,
when we,
with all our
skills do extricate
you
from
that flesh?
Tell us is
that body
Joe, Mary,
Mae or Bob?
Does it then answer while
it breathes?
Or does the spirit, flying near
look down
and use
that mouth and name?