"Drop the screen"
I say to myself.
I don't know
but I
but I am
the self:
the bookshelf rearranger,
the librarian stranger,hanger,
gettin' texts out of danger
(With) Every little thing I do quickly
every eye twitch, thought missed
memories stitched swiftly.
This
ever-waking mindstate is me.
I
am
program
ing
growth of trees.
I am the man, thinking
inside of the beast;
I am Zeus' lightning in Dionysus' body.
I'm the mutated Y learning double-X lessons,
I'm Jesus admiring Mary Jane's breasts
while resting my mind in my heart in my chest
to stand alone, resist merger
.
Do not touch the treasured snowflakes
radiating from the fountains of her hands,
or they will break down, dissipate
the voices of the Angels
in the brains of apes.
