On Derrida

Derrida ebbs and flows

With the stir of restless THOUGHT

Sandscape rises with the tide of time

Thru

Writings sky, moving at once,

Logos arriving

I pace up and down the page

I peruse my bottom lip

I’m trying to find, not an answer, a question:

The first question:

What shook Elohim out of the ocean?

I rise and fall, each page turns to no relief,

The straight lines clash against the curvature of a crazed, obsessed, lust, of Myth, of her again, creator of dream and metaphor,

Bending space-time around a little finger

Out of the birth of Nature

Comes Myth

Where question and answer

Unite

In harmony of opposite

(Still thought unborn)

And Derrida comes and goes

Living a myth