I don't know what it is about you
That makes my body talk like it does
Every time it thinks of you.
And the magnetic movements it makes
And every shape it forms
Is all because you made it
Whatever it is now.
You made it beautiful not in the sense of a morning
Or an oil drawn landscape
But in the way of a volcano or a truth
That is beautiful because it is stark
And because it is.
You make my body acknowledge its being
a whole with every part
Rather than an attribution, or a simulation
For the brain itself to map its skills on to.
In the way that all of the earth is
It is alive.
Red blood flows in it much less than
Its realization of itself.
II
The terrifying truth in my arms and face and legs
And the cynical jester in the head
Talk to each other so often these days
There is no lie on the body.
No truth exists in the mind.
If it has borne wounds, and been burnt
If it has recovered or rotted,
If it has sparkled or calmed,
It is open to examination.
Until such time as it is clothed
With the pretense of the being,
the conformity and convention of the mind;
The body doesn't bruise spontaneously.
There is no truth to be found
But altered memory, and altered vision
And altered fact and altered lie every time
a thought runs over another thought
Corroding its neighbor,
Scarring, facelifting and masking,
Elements of a world within a world.
The pride of having taste overrides
The desire to be fed
And touched.
To sleep.
The mind can conceive of times more than this one.
The body's only clock is always in the present.
Firewood from the body and
Smoke from the mind.
The body doesn't ask for direction
The mind only asks for reduction of drive.
III
We found no maps in this place.
The road goes on and on
only if you care to keep looking
Intertwined lanes come to being
Only when enough people care to walk
Through bushes.
The topography of my house is clear.
But when i look inside, there is no indication of localization.
How do we build a way for a small thought to travel
To you without permission.
These countries that minds are
Don't have security systems, or immigration protocols.
Yet when the decision is taken by the head
Just tug on the reigns on the mouth
And it will speak just as you please.
And it will kiss just as you wish.
What a beautiful slave.