Bargain Bin Identity

The skull is the first obstacle and final impasse
beyond is the horizon like a pen
closed in all sides by eyes
unable to spot mister mousey stir
in tall grasses two miles off.
The senses explode passages of screams and
light out of our heads
tilting back and gurgling in all worldly dread
too petrified to spit
something other than isolationist love
forces us to swallow
concepts of border, state, nation
and others beyond who need be brought defeat by
the wrath of timetable men bearing
precision clocks, square scales and encyclopedic assurity,
hateful of how their passions leave them abandoned –
inside their love there is no room for breath
no space for the without
no brotherhood and no sisterhood within
the confines
of our “keep your slut-ass away from MY man” world
in which all our greatest devices
are prisons for our keeping
and ultimate retreat
through our senses
away from the brilliance of broad horizons
back to the hush – as heard from the womb
a gradual diminuendo unto the silence
and nothingness that poses no prohibition except for the possibility
we might truly exist should we move forward again and stop seeking rebirth.



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