Clumps of broken
earth laced with concrete, galaxies churning
out trillions of stars, drops of water showing, under the microscope, billions
of squiggling protozoa are the inhuman movements I see with a surprising finding since
biologists thought 'handedness' had evolved only in animals that used
their hands, feet or paws to
manipulate food or other objects routinely...Unlike humans, most animals
are evenly divided when it comes to a man who speaks to me: "You
know that kid who shot the cop, I hope he dies, the little bastard." Slumbering
or deceased, this ground doesn't yield a single seed.
olden times we lived with the mask
of a totem never seen, storing it
in a dark corner of the room.
wilderness, the Other becomes
aware of itself in us, when we offer ourselves as the site of its own self-expression,
when our gift of voice is genuine, no strings attached, when the expression is not that of
ventriloquist projection I
pass a log with cold green water sluicing over it, spewing up foam and mist, each breath
"an inheritor of earlier loves."