Sunday, December 31, 2000


Under the nail, a sliver, slowly working its way to the surface; never arriving.
Or maybe a constant rock set upon (if only it could garner that attention; or desired it); setting upon. A pincer. A prancer, twiddling; proclaiming freedom but yet held down. Pain is a boundary; a wall, isn't it.
Under the thumb; as was proclaimed. The holder of an intelligence of which the head can dream. In a hierarchy; all castes the hand would rule, except it lacks vision(no cone no future). Would it have had it, would it have taken its own sly life? The right appendage (and eye) nary knows what the left ( Oh sinister limb) does do.
Under the tongue, heat; a burning ache buried under the flesh. A guttural stain parading deep in the throat. Is it a fluke? Is it a fluke that I have eaten, will eat, will spit, will shout, will proclaim and place limits that I cannot respect? Where are the limits of will and work? From whence in the warp and weft of words comes satisfaction?
Under the stone bowl. The seat of thought? The hand and knee have a logic dependent on place in space. The head may make a map but cannot travel it; cannot know that territory. The body proclaims (desperately) its will to connect not as slave to master but equal partner. It is from experience that I say that the walnut in the brain-cage, soft, cannot know of the slap of the muscle and bone against rollicking earth. It is a traveler in other realms (Don't court extremes!. It does know by association.).
Rare and lovely. The head turns balloony and floats and everything is just the big ONE. We are stranded with a foot buried or maybe just convinced it anchors firmament. The moment awakens and it feels! The bare foot tickled by dewy grass; cool, the dampness leaving its life's blood; the lake's agar; the sea's gift; no senseless clamoring after.


Post a Comment

<< Home