you.
You, who? Why, you the 206-boned skeleton that takes
20 years to fully ossify. You the circulatory loop that
changes its oil every 3 to 4 months. You the supple-skinned
habitat hosting 1,000 different species of bacteria .
You the flabby folds of warmth nobody wants to wear.
You the flex and the flow of a strength that moves the world.
You the heart the size of a fist with the capacity to encompass
the universe, and the compassion to collapse under the weight
of so much suffering. You the monthly fertility window in which
your inst i nc ts can call into the lineage another reproduction of you.
And you the central nervous system that coordinates all of your
movements and keeps e a ch of your constituents up to speed.
You bawdy, naughty body , you. Maybe so. And what, pray tell,
say you of the you of which the body is a constituent?
You say a year is everything to a babe but only 1/67th of everything
to most of the population that nears the end of its incessant ticking.
You say the rings inside the oak say it bore 700 cycles of seasons,
and limbs it lost lingered in scents no man alive knows existed.
You say mountains have been shown to become plains, and
bets are on that the Midwest is an ocean waiting to happen.
You say the so-called solid ground beneath your feet moves
so quickly and so slowly you think youâre standing still .
And you say anything you say can be held against you.
III
Well said, or well enough t o make it worth standing behind
as a saying, a saying spanni n g approximately 165 ticks,
be it ticks of the clock, or ticks of the old ticker, the two
forming the rhythm of a poem not quite upon its bed of nails .
If you could arrange those nails one by one and make them
say something to someone of the stars, what would they
look like, what would they impress upon a body
that had no inkling of the measurements of man?
Youâre afraid a poet working in language has no such powers,
but if he did, if an expression could communicate understanding
and bridge the g a p between himself and his kin, as it so often
fails to do, and then go on to bridge the gap between species,
you like to think it would flay the tick and lay it bare from its
essence to its enclosure, tâwould twirl before the eye a sight
that looks the same from every angle, that alights a design
so simple and precise there can be no misunderstandingâ
a point, if you will, in which the shape of humanity resides.
But failing such prowess, you give it a try, and say something
along the lines of :
The body and experience are common to us, as is the moment,
now. Time is a now followed by another now and an immediate
recognition of both. Every body has its own hue of experience,
emerges at a particular place in time and moves along until it doesnât.
This trajectory of the body we call duration, the length of a life,
how long it takes to stop moving. The body keeps track of its
own trajectory, and within the body operates an awareness
of countless trajectories, an awareness that shifts and sweeps
with the direction of the bodyâs attention. The awareness
takes periodic readings from these trajectories and uses the
readings to inform the bodyâs direction. Some trajectories
may never appear to the body, but the awareness in the body
recognizes that it may nevertheless be part of their movement.
You may be such a body. If so, thanks from this body within you.
88
my teeth are crazy because i sucked my thumb until i was 16 because one time i answered the phone at 8 in the morning when i was 6 in our dank basement suite to a man heavy breathing and moaning and crawled into bed with my mom and looked up at the window ledge through a crack in the curtains at the condensation thinking about a conversation my mom had when she didnt know i was listening about a neighborhood peeping tom. then i thought about my strawberry shortcake bike with the banana seat rusting under the back
You, who? Why, you the 206-boned skeleton that takes
20 years to fully ossify. You the circulatory loop that
changes its oil every 3 to 4 months. You the supple-skinned
habitat hosting 1,000 different species of bacteria .
You the flabby folds of warmth nobody wants to wear.
You the flex and the flow of a strength that moves the world.
You the heart the size of a fist with the capacity to encompass
the universe, and the compassion to collapse under the weight
of so much suffering. You the monthly fertility window in which
your inst i nc ts can call into the lineage another reproduction of you.
And you the central nervous system that coordinates all of your
movements and keeps e a ch of your constituents up to speed.
You bawdy, naughty body , you. Maybe so. And what, pray tell,
say you of the you of which the body is a constituent?
You say a year is everything to a babe but only 1/67th of everything
to most of the population that nears the end of its incessant ticking.
You say the rings inside the oak say it bore 700 cycles of seasons,
and limbs it lost lingered in scents no man alive knows existed.
You say mountains have been shown to become plains, and
bets are on that the Midwest is an ocean waiting to happen.
You say the so-called solid ground beneath your feet moves
so quickly and so slowly you think youâre standing still .
And you say anything you say can be held against you.
III
Well said, or well enough t o make it worth standing behind
as a saying, a saying spanni n g approximately 165 ticks,
be it ticks of the clock, or ticks of the old ticker, the two
forming the rhythm of a poem not quite upon its bed of nails .
If you could arrange those nails one by one and make them
say something to someone of the stars, what would they
look like, what would they impress upon a body
that had no inkling of the measurements of man?
Youâre afraid a poet working in language has no such powers,
but if he did, if an expression could communicate understanding
and bridge the g a p between himself and his kin, as it so often
fails to do, and then go on to bridge the gap between species,
you like to think it would flay the tick and lay it bare from its
essence to its enclosure, tâwould twirl before the eye a sight
that looks the same from every angle, that alights a design
so simple and precise there can be no misunderstandingâ
a point, if you will, in which the shape of humanity resides.
But failing such prowess, you give it a try, and say something
along the lines of :
The body and experience are common to us, as is the moment,
now. Time is a now followed by another now and an immediate
recognition of both. Every body has its own hue of experience,
emerges at a particular place in time and moves along until it doesnât.
This trajectory of the body we call duration, the length of a life,
how long it takes to stop moving. The body keeps track of its
own trajectory, and within the body operates an awareness
of countless trajectories, an awareness that shifts and sweeps
with the direction of the bodyâs attention. The awareness
takes periodic readings from these trajectories and uses the
readings to inform the bodyâs direction. Some trajectories
may never appear to the body, but the awareness in the body
recognizes that it may nevertheless be part of their movement.
You may be such a body. If so, thanks from this body within you.
88
my teeth are crazy because i sucked my thumb until i was 16 because one time i answered the phone at 8 in the morning when i was 6 in our dank basement suite to a man heavy breathing and moaning and crawled into bed with my mom and looked up at the window ledge through a crack in the curtains at the condensation thinking about a conversation my mom had when she didnt know i was listening about a neighborhood peeping tom. then i thought about my strawberry shortcake bike with the banana seat rusting under the back
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