you tell me that i should try to keep my perspective objective as if i could somehow coerce my consciousness to traverse the boundaries of my me-niverse and rush, unprotected into the crazy, overwhelming crush of unfiltered particles and waves with such a gaze as i've been training since i was born to avoid and in so doing formed the very void that has become my sacred "i" of the storm three eyes have i, to be precise one, looking back in high-definition retro-vision one, now, with myopia and my third eye, my ocular oracle with sight beyond sight the one that sees all the possible futures and fantasies of both fright and flight and i've but barely begun to discover which buttons on my remote control do more than simply select the source or show a picture-in-picture view of my soul how very droll, all this you think that i should leave behind somehow unzip my skin and evacuate my mind to pick some dull, tumbled-out tiss...
this just happened again - my cheeks still hurt from our laughing so much as i accused pg by reading this poem at her loudly and theatrically :D
ReplyDeleteit was only after we'd initially settled down that i realized that she was hiding more in her other hand. she claims that she was hiding them not because she doesn't want to share - but because she doesn't want me to see her eating so many marshmallows.