Prose-poem inspired by ‘A Voyage to Arcturus’, a continuation of #56.
Around all the corners of this world lie booby-traps.
A dizzyingly vast edifice of snakes and ladders, the serpents here tempt not on to knowledge, but back to the beginning. Their final aim is not seduction, but sedation. Their stings are full of numbing agents. This is because, far more than your death, do they desire your perpetual sleep. For sleep is no escape at all from this world. It is the opposite.
Groundhog day in the garden of Genesis.