Something from my old friend Charles Flint who I so far cannot re-find even with the help of the internets tubeses. ; (
THE FURIOUS AND SAD OLD SURREALIST MASTER DISOWNING HIS ESTABLISHMENT DAUGHTER
When you leave the darkness of learning
and find snow
I will not be at the window.
When the cement fist of money
which has killed all the animal images
approaches you
do not turn to me.
I will not know what to do.
When the table guarding the door
tries to keep you from hearing sound
do not ask me for help.
I will have gone mad.
When I have reached the end
and have no strength to turn
toward the field where the found
is hiding the stone of hope
and when I have only one wish left
it will be telling you to go away
to where the snow has been covered
with dust and noise.
Only then will the windowlocks unfreeze
in the night which shows no light or darkness.
And the horses galloping toward afternoon
will shake the easiest victories
into your opened hands.
.
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