Standing –
Actually
Looking around – inside
Of some withering memory
Can prove
Scary:
Parts and wholes all mixed and mangled,
Branches where limbs once swung,
Boiling solids,
Tattered
Liquids
(Were furniture)
Dim in the living room;
Red as blood because it is blood
((Not real
Brain blood))
Close friends and strange people twining,
Combining, but all wrong.
And finally
It’s gone
“The mind is not a sandbox:
Its contents bear consequence
In the material world
(Time must be measured
in the mind for
dunes change
underneath
a brilliant map of suns)
“The life is the creation
Of the contents of one mind –
Thoughts are things in the real world
(Deep in the orange
distance: a string
of tiny camels
inching across
the grand dunes)
“One does not build sand castles
In the mind then not build them
Again on the ancient beach
(At the edge
of this alamogordo
your chain-link
fence made out
of mithril)
when i am thinking
i think to myself –
self thinks to self
till one wakes
up and is the one
self again and
again thinking and
selfing multitudes
and unto infinity
selfs till one wakes
alone and is the one
self unto death…]
summers
pass, difficult
to hear, since sound waves slow
through sweet actuals, through
the tangible trees. summers come
slowly,
come soon:
hear those there-flowers opening
on extended days; smell
the qualia
grass grow
⨀ 