1
Mr Cogito
reading a book
about the limits of learning
eons of intellectual progress
from the depths of fideism
to enlightened knowledge
came upon an episode
a cloud
which eclipsed Mr Cogito's
personal horizons
a small addition
to the bloated history
of fatal human error
for a very long time
it was widely considered
that human beings contain
a sizeable reservoir of blood
a rotund barrel
twenty odd litres
- a trifle
thus we can now grasp
effusive descriptions of battles
coral red fields
swift streams of gore
heavens which repeat
ruthless hecatombs
and also widespread
medical practices
the arteries
of the sick would be sliced open
their precious contents
frivolously drained
into tin bowls
not everyone survived
Descartes whispered in agony
Messieurs épargnez –
2
we now know precisely
that every human body
condemned and executioner
holds a mere
four or five litres
of what was once called the body's soul
a few bottles of burgundy
a jug
a quarter of what
a bucket would hold
little
Mr Cogito
naively wonders
why this discovery
did not cause an upheaval
in the sphere of human habit
did not at least encourage
some sensible frugality
we mustn't continue
carelessly squandering
across fields of battle
and places of execution
there really isn't all that much
less in fact than water oil
energy resources
and yet something else happened
disgraceful conclusions arrived at
instead of thriftiness
wastefulness
the precise measurement
emboldened nihilists
gave tyrants great vigour
now they know exactly
how frail is man
and how easy to bleed dry
four or five litres
grandeur without meaning
and so the triumph of science
did not bring spiritual enlightenment
or new rules of conduct
no moral norms
this is scant consolation
Mr Cogito thinks
the efforts of learned men
do not change the course of events
weighing no more
than a poet's sigh
while blood
runs on
breaching the limits of flesh
the borders of fantasy
– there may be a flood
