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ISSN: 1941-4137 |
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Volume Two Issue Three |
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In the cloister, in the Temple of the Sacred Fountain In the cloister, in the Temple of the Sacred Fountain, a monk is scooping up dead pigeons from the fountain. Sick of the void, they grew a body round the heart after they had devised a garden round the fountain. Quiet evenings change the body to an aqueduct, the phallus celebrating the stonework a fountain. Night has come; now all fountains speak more loudly, so Nietzsche writes, and my soul, too, is a fountain. The reason a woman brings her buckets to a well is the same reason lovers embrace by a fountain. Jee, you may quarry from the sun the finest stone. A form, even of Triton, does not make a fountain. |
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