Archive
07/26/12
"I Am"
Every other whipstitch, if not infinitely less intermittently, He simply disappears from his own veering visionary lifeline, Amidst the shimmering invisibility peering from the eyes inside his mind, Into the rearview mirror of the misty thought-waves he rides As he recedes higher, through the vast absence called deepest sleep.
That he can give his existence the slip, with such prodigious facility, Has much to do with his soul's predisposition To anticipating and accepting cessation of his physical spirit; And that he can reappear, in the flick of his whipstitching wrist, Owes its success to the prestidigitations death has taught him,
The magic tricks he's learned since his first birth-second, When it occurred, to his burgeoning brain, that life is just an aberration, A strange change to be accepted and assimilated, or rejected, An unnatural state of being, between the antipodes of breathlessness, An in-the-making disaster waiting to possess corporeal essence.
From the beginning, he's comprehended that living is irredeemably dire And, at the same time, profoundly irrelevant, insignificant, null and void, Especially since death issued him a perpetual reprieve, Deemed him inviolable, outside and inside time, simultaneously, A creature destined to outlast the ages — God's Ur-Words: "I AM."
07/26/12
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