An Anthropology of the Neuron
Distended, time gets in in fragments:
andante swerves to meet fortissimo,
better part of Psyche left
to wonder where a giant left his shoes—
in whose castle did you own yourself?
she asks, tenuously, not yet having
embraced feminism.
It was always amniotic
becomes
a way of saying that grief awaits,
a little bit of space
from which to begin to reinvent noise.
You take a positive and infuse it
with enough salt to make comeliness seem like mellow,
light mellow,
an atmosphere
below cloud cover but not emptied
of its indelibility. Did you say truth?
You raise an Other,
take out a card
from a last pack,
lay it down on a table and count to the end of finitude.
Someone says you’re a copy,
but without a spark, how would life speak?