Letter from a Classic Archetypal Dope, January 4, 1960 - Part One

Written by: T Wignesan

   Part One

Now as I account for myself
I know the fight is over
   You made me feel if I was worth saving
I was worth having
And I knew as the man flattered to grow
    He also learned the crafts of
       clinging on to his sleazy self

When we have to account for ourselves
When we have to take stock of the unaccountable
When we have but ourselves to account for
When all but you and I alone are left
                            standing
Amid the crowds that hover at our presence
                                      in your eye
Amid the lashing lolling tongues

Amid the squelching claws of distrust
And the deriding press of after thought
What are my lean-throated words
What are my bleating pleas of
                                            what
When we have to account for ourselves
In the awakening stillness of other judgment worlds
What account do we have for ourselves
But the rabid thirst of a search
When we may have met in this or that town
But in this land and in this continent
  This world
     This incarnation
This temporal crevice

You in the fresh burst of discovery
I in the aftermath of debunking rediscovery
Time was then held alike that summer
Growing only to fruition in our recognition
My senses were growingly numb from blunt use
  burning when the electric fondling
   dared enter and worry the concealed corners

I saw you then
 Not as the strapping dash of bubbliness
 Nor as the plaitted innocence of schooling youth
Trundling the scenes of covertly revisited crimes
Forming with others the dutiful mannered habits
  Nor as the tall preening blot of shyness
    at the hedge of a group picture
Fronting a personality
Dicing friendship
Simulating elder precepts
Feeling your maidenhood pulsate in reveries
Testing its beat upon hidden hay heaps
Nor as the pure shaft of consciousness
Thrusting into the wake of frightfulness

I saw you
Only as a parcel come to me in mortal need
In a prelatic bestowment of fruits and tins
The salt and pepper of spicy tables

I saw you come to me
  in disguise well wrapped and well meant
I saw you come to me
That low day of my life
As a parcel bound in the selfless vines of veins
  As the blood of transfusion
    As the hope of persistent verse

It was one big inconsumable heart that arrived
Unnamed and unasked for
And I stood and stared
   Stared and stood
No longer in unbelief
I did not live from victuals coursing through
I lived and thrived from gorging one
   Insuperable unknown heart

(Continued in Part Two)