If I am to be committed
To transcendence, to merely say that
There is a body is not
Yet to deal with it, if my looks go
Everywhere they are
Selfsame slaughtered by the manner
In which they snag, a car
Illuminates in panic every thirteen
Minutes or so and it’s driving
The neighbors nuts as the socioeconomic
History of golf pollutes
The branch in the hand of the kid
Swinging at an imaginary
Ball, the handshakes
Here are reversible, we touch
Touching the way these fall dragonflies
Flee the invisible weft
They sew into the air that unites
Above our heads, today’s weather
Report calls for abundant
Sunshine as a man with a limp
Plods past the girl
Asleep in her tiny camouflage
Bikini and if she dreams
Of the secret blackness
Of milk, it’s only these pinks
Lazily invading
Her back as a sigh
Descends over the scene while the girls
Put on their shirts and we must
Recommence everything just
Moments after it’s begun, the sun
Shines abundantly down
Upon the clouds, or briefly
Breaks on the totality
Of a dog, or our impression
Of the totality of
A dog and there’s something
About lived life that leaves
Itself in intractable
Tufts upon the heart, it’s tough
Being a thing
Which understands enough
Of what it means to be
Seen to see others in the nightmare
Of consciousness, which is nonetheless
A dream, which is nonetheless
A choice without choice, spiraling
Like the intertwined black
And white on the disc
Of the hypnotist, whose colors
Remain fixed, we remain
Unconvinced by the spectacular
Passing of modes, want
Our ears near the frequencies
Of I hear myself
With my throat and what the throat
Thinks we drink, let
The very next idea that enters
Your head represent all
Words that never made it to the page.
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