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ouroboros-57x30-inches-20091
artwork by Camille Dela Rosa https://anarchictomy.wordpress.com/

Everything reminds me of something,
As if that is all I am –
A collection of the past
Chemically preserved,
Pickled in it.

Am I nothing but the past?

At each moment
The next moment
Compresses time
Into what matters
And the matter is me.

Am I nothing but the past?

My 100 billion neurons connecting,
Passing,
Signaling each other
Like dealers.
I am a junky for the past.

Are all my actions reactions to the past?

A good housekeeper
Classifying and reclassifying
My changing neural pathways
Like canned goods in the cupboard
Easily discovered and ready to use.

Am I nothing but the past?

A dubious fool
Certain of only the uncertainty
Of me without my past –
My credence, my false God
My misunderstanding of the truth of myself.

Am I nothing but the past?

I imagine I am dreaming of a future,
But I am only
Always
Circling my past.
A dog chasing her tail.

June 7, 2015

IMG_0596

The moon, almost full,
Cuts a white hole in the indigo night sky, like a child with scissors.
A finite black, papery disc flutters fast, unnoticed, out of sight.
Like confetti on New Year’s Eve,
The brilliant cut no longer contained,
Spills in-falling particles of light.
The dark sapphire sea scintillates.

In a sequined dress, it dances in great waves to the moon’s lead
In the spot of light, shimmies and shakes,
A great lustrous, ebony muscle under a skin of satin glass,
Billing a holiday mood.
Shhhhish Shahhh Ahhhhh Haa, Shhhhish Shahhh Ahhhhh Haa
What a party.
I watch from my window.

From infinitely far into the future,
One at a time, they come rolling in,
Out from that soft blurred navy line,
Regular patrons of a smokey night club.
An eternal flood of guests heady and boisterous,
Their steady rumpus, sounding,
Like the static of an old radio played between stations.

As they arrive
Moon-lighted
White crested black tides,
I make out the smooth, shore sound of each of them
CHAHH Shhhhshahh Ahhhh
Some louder than others, but collectively
A deafening din.

I am a child of this Moon and Sea duet
Jazzed with fresh salted air
Almost lured,
If not for standing in the shadows
Aside soft billowing bedroom curtains
Stealing entry to a brilliant show,
To strip clean and swim in the ancient memory of my beginnings.

At this curvature of space, this bridge in the cosmos,
I am quick and nimble, finding the discarded black hole
Fitting it into place, pasting it in, like closing my curtains,
Turning my back on possibilities too great to consider.
I climb into a soft, cloudy bed
Romanced and dreamy-eyed by the pas de deux,
I fall asleep.

18 September 2013