Mr. Cogito never trusted <br />tricks of the imagination <br /> <br />the piano at the top of the Alps <br />played false concerts for him <br /> <br />he didn't appreciate labyrinths <br />the Sphinx filled him with loathing <br /> <br />he lived in a house with no basement <br />without mirrors of dialectics <br /> <br />jungles of tangled images <br />were not his home <br /> <br />he would rarely soar <br />on the wings of metaphor <br />and then he fell like Icarus <br />into the embrace of the Great Mother <br /> <br />he adored tautologies <br />explanations <br />idem per idem <br /> <br />that a bird is a bird <br />slavery means slavery <br />a knife is a knife <br />death remains death <br /> <br />he loved <br />the flat horizon <br />a straight line <br />the gravity of the earth<br /><br />Zbigniew Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mr-cogito-and-the-imagination/
