Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Back Road of Not Appearing

Not quite arriving. Not a journey,
Never completely there. Some part
left behind, or along the way,
a movement in a direction, it seems much of you
has been sprinkled saltlike throughout
your clothes.

Particles, neutrons, constant orbiting of 
substances composed of substances, 
not considering each of us
is a whole but parts of parts that 
pulsate in cohesion,
tell us we are this man or that woman,
tell us no more than a dog thinks.

What are we?—at this second,
this minisecond? The world is huge,
and there are so many of us. What is the
political situation in Bulgaria?
What is it around the corner? 

Too much to know.
I draw a line between me and the multitude. 
But where is this line? I lose it.
To dwell in indefiniteness
takes indefiniteness, is unsettling.

Is it human to be so hindered? Caged? 
Is it human to be so free?
One’s microns must be kept as compact
as possible.

I isolate, shun the invincible,
look north when others say south. 
There are subjects not to be approached.
Truthful, disturbing.
Is it cowardice? Perhaps, perhaps not. 
One can indoctrinate but not convince.
One germinates as one geminates. 

Turn left at this junction,
right at that corner.
Once trial and error, but that was dangerous,
Now established, yet just
as dangerous.

What happens happens,
or does it?
Is it evolution? But I’ll be long gone.
Having evolved into particles. 
Pure thought.
No longer a neighbor.

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