Wound

 

Give me each piece of the shard of glass I stepped on and you ceremoniously extracted from my heel. Blood-stained, uneven and jagged edges. Found weeks after the cup was dropped. Found in my skin. Found on the splatter-plot of my gory steps to the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet, perform yoga poses to try and identify what has penetrated my foot’s feel good sense of exploration. I want this souvenir. A necklace to wear around my neck. A reminder. No, don’t clean it off. Let it be how it was, fresh in the air as my wound congealed and set itself right and we began to blot up the evidence of my travels. 

Omni-Ego

My image

Through a glass 

Distorted in a trick of an eye.

Somewhere in the glass.

A faraway place

Unmade on a map.

Unknown in the words of others.

A copy of the copy staring back at the original.

Looking to speak.

What will I tell me?

Wisdom, lean forward.

Whisper gently to my forehead.

Words in the flow of the River

Caught in the rising of the moment.

Traveling beneath the ground

Weaving through eroding limestone.

Feel their ebb and flow

In the finery of words.

In the cadence of the spoken.

In the truth of the soul.

I’ll project an image

Onto this hanging sheet.

It will show the same clip

Forward, backward, unstitched in sequencing.

The audience will evaluate

It.

Give it shape and a role.

New possibilities will join the timeline.

What this is was forgotten

What this was is knowable.

Glass, shift the image when taken and 

Repositioned.

Another new life has begun,

A process of refraction.

Reflection becoming a reality.

A slight differentiation

Another opportunity.

I am me and he is I and we are the same.

And I too, will receive this name

Given to me.

I will go

Will move through one of these new worlds

To seek our destiny.