Cull//hollow cusp, congress of metal & reef.
Organs ought to offer up ample
I finger my ribs, & small the bulge comprising my stomach.
I see, I read, I
The Body is when I have no distinct passages
Wall of data. World of raw sensation.
scent or sense of something bubbling
What a difference being sensate makes!
I'm not equipped
I split & box away the self.
I can split from myself as
a) BIRDS, BIRDS, BIRDS
I lift my hands up to eye-level
Ever since I trained my
nothing but birds,
b) ORGANS || ARCHITECTURE
I get off the highway past a copse
I sit at the waterfront, tiny human
c) THE FUTURE || MACHINES
I walk myself to a set of big double doors.
I wanted to have a well developed coherence relational analysis. I wanted to have a well developed sense of self. I've seen three installments of the self. I have three distinct passages in my mind. Everybody is writing about their body & I am no exception. The only way I know to cope with being in a body is to stare at bodies & imagine that they know the same isolation. I cease to exist at least every time a flock blots out some swath of sky. A tremendous weight has been lifted. I cultivate my concentration but it breaks in the face of the feather-rustle flutter— bird-clutter— in the branches: the gospel of no-self, of swarm.
I have found myself lifted
, sufficiently lifted.
This piece was written in conjunction with a chapbook that was a part of my undergraduate thesis. All the poems in the chapbook included footnotes that made reference to different sections of the Appendix in an attempt to experiment with fractured, associative engagements with text. I approached it with a concern for sound, association, lyric logic, & the role of language in the construction of senses of self.