This is self-knowledge, to shut out the 'creativity'
That screams on all sides to sunder us, invitations
To consume - to eat up our self-sufficiency,
Feeding a false sense of our own privations.
Self-knowledge is rebuking Reason's illusions
That growth and technology are creative solutions
To discontent. Self-knowledge is the mother of creations.
Cold reason makes capital: Creativity makes friends,
Makes music and dance, makes up, makes love,
Makes laughter, make believe and talk that never ends,
Makes artful religion from the ceremonials thereof,
Ready for painting with brush or pen,
With the strokes of desire, that animating oxygen
That fills out our canvas and the sheeted ladylove.
Not limping now is Long John Silver,
As when insight comes one hop at a time
To the bureaucratic and scientific problem-solver,
Hobbled by system and hypnotic paradigm
Into plodding re-analysis of what he already knows.
Breaking in my head are the shore's counterblows
To the inhuman pattern, exposing the pantomime.
The jess that is tied to the untameable falcon
Becomes jest after a while. A dove undoctrinaire
Alights on the landlubber's shoulder from a galleon
On the immense illogic, and cries, 'Ahoy there,
Me arties! Mind, take off your clothes!
Eyes, be refreshed to juxtapose
Incongruities in the look and manner of the square!'