We are at a party that doesn't love us. At last the party lets its mask
drop and shows itself for what it really is: a marshalling yard. Cold
colossi stand on rails in the mist. A piece of chalk has scribbled on the
wagon doors.
It shouldn't be said but there is much suppressed violence here.
That's why the components are so heavy. And why it's so hard to see
something else that's there too: a little reflection from a mirror, flitting
on the house-walls and gliding through the unknowing forest of glimmering
faces, a biblical text which was never written: 'Come unto me, for I am
full of contradictions like you.'
Tomorrow I am working in another town. I swish towards it through
the morning hour which is like a big dark-blue cylinder. Orion hangs
above the ground-frost. Children are standing in a silent cluster waiting
for the school bus, children no one prays for. The light is growing as
slowly as our hair.
from Sanningsbarriären, 1978
The Truth-Barrier
