Tagged: the Self
Nietzsche’s Sister’s Cat
I wonder if the dog, while
holding its mouth open for the cat
ever has thoughts of crushing it
flash images
like a photo continues
outside its frame, does the dog
see itself continue?
does the cat suspect?
suspect is a strong word
surely the dog is not to blame for
seeing. is seeing thinking?
neither one is doing
until it is done. so the cat is cautious
the dog inviting – its neck
thicker than its head
the skull in plates
built for this relief – sure
the cat will trust the dog one day
only after
it has never happened
A Love Letter
it feels like a good time…
candles already lit, so
no presumptuous
candle lighting
some of the hourglass
sand is stuck. I wonder if
this like time, then
throw up my mouth a little
but what place other than
a letter to talk about time?
or sand? or being stuck? plus
I am concerned about my hourglass
it’s meant to be 30 minutes
but with sand stuck to the glass
is it quite? how much
time am I getting?
is it the same sand each time?
or does new time replace it?
it’s hard to tell – I flip it
just to see you buried
the Angel of Forgetfulness
blesses me. The Angel of White
Dimples
rebuilds herself
whole temples in her honor
could this be the time
when all of the sand
falls through? and
Forgetfulness retrieves
her blanket?
will I remember having
said yes to this, this life
and potentially others?
what did I see up there
that meant
enduring a human body
was it your body? It could
have been your body
was it something that needed
to be done?
have I done it?
can I keep doing it? is there any
question but the one I have already
answered yes to…
…is this a good time?
Activity
I am writing again, which
feels like the wrong thing
behind me
there are thousands of figures
symbols for lost time
like a chair is not its word
“chair” a person
is not his name
nor is he what he leaves
behind
he is not named
“gunk in corners”
though he resides there
with no need for sitting, writing
now he sinks
where chairs were
leaving behind residue
like ink
on the paper
at night
Lime Rinse
maybe I never
in the first place
jelly down a sea of me
me me me
me as I changed
into me again
over and over
over? it continues
through sleep
I am pulled down
tighter, so that you
can be stitched up
I am upside down to you
therefore, to me
Numbers in a Bag of Cherries
I have two cherries.
Yes. What happens if you eat one?
I have one left.
Yes! Two minus one equals one. What happens if you eat one more?
I have a bag.
How Our Strengths are Reflected
always myself, as such
i am not
what i make
of you
bad at protecting
interests
delicate in lies
and pursuit
of poor health
those interests
aware
that the better
parts of me
are ones
i have been asked
by others
to hold
The Point I’m Trying to Make Is
it starts out as a thought
which is to say
the only thing
between nothing and thought
is me
what am i mostly?
tonight i caught a knife
after i dropped it
at first i felt impressed
that is not unlike
an immediate thought
a knife
falling through the mind
i’d rather have a spoon
an egg
the things i feel second
thirdly about
to balance my egg
down this botched,
carnivalian raceway
keeping the spoon straight
with my mind
i’d avoid the knife-jugglers
who are looking
directly at me
their points connected
umbilically
to my sternum
it’s like my body knows
it will die that way
in some freak accident
there is one long
accordion squeeze
of life
you leave your egg
in a basket
at the end
a Curse
there’s water to drink from
above the carcass
and seasons bringing courage
under spell of delusion
is it winter? there are still
mosquitoes. their larvae twitch
from room to room
and tadpoles remain tadpoles
in their comfortably
sized ponds
having no reason to change
they do not
as I have not
until I see long legs
step out, away
the whole thing moves
the known world
seems
noticeably smaller
and there isn’t enough room
for what I feel like
in an otherwise
happy life
The Land of Places to Stop for a Moment
still misplacing the allotted granules
an expected &
unopened door
i remember things i’ve thrown
in a way
that places them
back together
giantess, dinner plates, souls
i have looked
for deposits
inside of
under the guise
of not giving up
there is nothing inside us
we are whatever ledge
on which
we place
our time
The Need to See, and Be Seen, Both
A group of hikers stare in the distance
as something stalks, then pounces, then
comes away empty handed, or clawed, or
pawed. Someone asks, “Is that a lynx?”
But the group says, “No. No no, no.”
The question curls in a path around them,
often over more trying terrain, as if there is
a distance their recognition can reach, an
actual discernible radius. The hikers wear
bright vests and glittery bear-bells. They
strain their eyes. Finally one of them says,
with real authority, “Oh, III see what it is.”
The others say, “Ya. Ya ya, ya.”