There’s a stretch of craggy coastline between who I am and who I want to be.
Icons on the cloudscape — Signals from the present
[I ask for a moment to think
and The Great Poet, that madman’s god, patron saint of the big dizzy;
laughs in my face.
laughs at my arrogance
laughs at my impatience
laughs at my equations while I labor through calculations
of the terminal velocity of us
of the serotonin levels required to maintain an approximation of forward momentum]
(Am I mixing metaphors in this thought-signal? Can you hear me, dear abstract reader, when I call out?)
This business of being born is more difficult than I remember it being – last time it was easier – last time I was more naïve—last time I still had the right feign ignorance—
I am laughing
at the unbelievable beauty
of the sound of my own breath