And I am losing language.
Taken with the strange
geography of the body. Agog.
The lay of the land so prescient
and movable, so pliant and usable.
(Something about the body and how you walk
around in it. How all the elements called you
are transported from bed to sink, pavement to car.)
How did I become my own beast-
of-burden? Carbon based, fuel hungry—
Automatic Response System?
Rapt. Practically spellbound
by all the gestures of modern life
dictated by circumstance; place hand here, wrap fingers
around shaft of spoon, rotate in a circular motion.
A congress of one, I am both audience and actor,
writer and reader. Egging myself on—I laugh
at all the right moments, shake my head in disbelief
at the predictable dialog and tired scenarios.
Look—a hand, an eye, the profile of a face.
Given the inability to see
inward, I hover above
my own topography. Barely attaining
an aerial view—bee to my buzz, prop-
plane to landing strip, satellite to planet.
And all the while this is what the sign on my back said;
Applause now. House lights down. Exit stage left.