The human body is not the world, and yet it is.
The world contains it, and is itself contained. Just so.
The distance between the two
Is like the distance between the no and the yes,
abysmal distance,
Nothing and everything, Just so.
This morning I move my body like a spring machine
Among the dormant and semi-dead,
The shorn branches and stubbed twigs hostile after the rain,
Grumpy and tapped out as go-betweens.
Blossoming plum tree coronal toast, cankered and burned.
When body becomes the unbody,
Look hard for its certitude, inconclusive, commensurate thing.
The world contains it, and is itself contained. Just so.
The distance between the two
Is like the distance between the no and the yes,
abysmal distance,
Nothing and everything, Just so.
This morning I move my body like a spring machine
Among the dormant and semi-dead,
The shorn branches and stubbed twigs hostile after the rain,
Grumpy and tapped out as go-betweens.
Blossoming plum tree coronal toast, cankered and burned.
When body becomes the unbody,
Look hard for its certitude, inconclusive, commensurate thing.
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