She has spent her life trying to escape from the parlor-like jaws of self-consciousness.
Song - Gottfried Benn
Oh that we were our primal ancestors.
A little lump of slime in a warm moor.
Life and death, fertilizing and giving birth
Would slide out from our dumb juices.An algal leaf or a dune hill,
Formed by wind and weighted downwards.
Even a dragonfly’s head, a gull’s wing
Would be going too far and suffer too much.
record high
Today’s so hot we’re all
like cats in windows: legs
splayed out and bellies full
of questionable fish,
our mouths turned upwards but
not really smiling, in
the default setting of
whatever lazy god
created us for this.
I hope one day to get
my belly rubbed by you.




