production and reduction
the bits of me which are me
are combined with the bits which are not
earnest ear, sincere fear
with ersatz youth and shadow simulacrum,
the bits that are and the bits that are not. there are:
some of me;
not of me;
we move into our sweet meat locker. turn out the lights.
i am at darkness.
what happens, when one:
opens one’s eyes to a tree one hasn’t seen, in a forest one hasn’t entered?
loses a body part?
is invested with a generative machine which pumps out new parts to displace the old?
is pumping out new organs and limbs at an astonishing pace?
i pump them out, i pump them out, and i attract one or another with them.
some come to me, some run from me, some i run towards.
i am always producing new organs and limbs, now,
and am an alarming shape. a condition, to be sure,
but no doctor can treat it, no doctor wants to. alarming?
maybe, but not to them:
this is the truth, they say,
sitting on the edge of my bed, tired and smirking, making cat’s cradle and mr. spider, this is What We Are.
they gaze philosophically into a corner,
as these pop out my navel: kabobs, ground beef.
it could be worse. you could be running out.