The writer’s rigid ego emerges on a quiet day

IMG_7809Some thoughts on oceanic feelings, and the projections of guilt that make the act of washing up so important:

I can’t help when trying to
get out of my mind to be
stilted back into it like
a bunny on rollerskates.
I cannot help but smile for

the ancientness of the horse,
the blithe chaos of children,
their atavism in the real.
Fluid minds, living dreams: their
raptured ignorance of hell.

I cannot help but stand by
and watch sheep rustle in maize
like watching cars shuttle by;
Chewing, that is all they do,
automata in their way.


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