Babel
content there’s nothing but content
Imago wakes from his dream to open his
eyes on form
Imago marooned in the Tate’s Rothko room
is soothed
subdued
moved is a mirror meditating on
colour
in a library Imago experiences language on paper
as the instructions for interpretation
as experience
meanwhile Imago experiences
consciousness as interpretation
language as translation the hermeneutics of being in a room
music is a lake dipping
his hands into the water always the same
a simple compound running through his
fingers always different
in a word in a colour
in a sound Babel sentenced
to life
belief in the form belief in the content belief in the knife
on the blade the tongue the taste of metal on the palate
the brightness the darkness of blood on the palette
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