Heidegger’s
Dasein
There
is a philosophy born of storm to encompass Be-ing,
And
it assails in the tumult of the unending assault of the days.
To
storm troop on and over the assailment of the heavens;
God
forbid, what is left of them those splintering fragments!
As
in the woodwinds onrushing conducive to the Heart-fires
Still
governing, just about, out from the holocaust of Thought.
Essence
at the forefront of being, attuning to the tumult
Of
the Sway, like anyone finding their ground.
Such
as the down and outs rolled up in sleeping bags
On
the public benches on the boardwalk,
Those
pupae, or premature mummies,
Whose
alarm clock would be police siren,
Heineken
clock and other hallucinatory prey,
And
whose breakfast would be coloured by the heady aroma of Hashish!
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