My brain runs down
every branch of the thought tree
while my body
is still beginning to climb the trunk.
Yet, my body
hammers eight 8th notes
while my brain
stays on a whole rest.
If I have a soul,
I think that it is the puppeteer
to my marionette. I am not so much
out of sync
as jerky—
anxious when deliberate,
and calm when I crash into everything.
I may look like a wooden boy
but be the graying man who crafted him.
Interpret me like a child
breathes in a show—
gasping, gentle,
curious and direct.
Love me without needing
to know what is going on.
Tug new wrinkles into the skin
on my arms,
and then just ask.
first feat. in Corporeal
Alphabet Ravine 
Wonderful
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Thank you!
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I’ve been thinking a lot, lot lately about the “superego” or what I’ve been calling the “executive consciousness.” Or the muse maybe. My theory is, it is a manifestation of a consciousness well separated from the EGO which just might be the goddess I worship spiraled in the crown of the skull (sahasrara) who can really be a bitch sometimes. I’d be a fool not to pay attention to her though, she is always right. Fucking know-it-all!
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Thank you for the comment!
Haha, I have a poem that says “I do not believe that which I think, and thus, I am not dead”. In my real life it can be more like, “I do not choose to place my trust in that which I believe”. I am not always good at knowing which voice inside me is the one I should always listen to, LOL!
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i can not find that poem
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Now that you mention it, I actually don’t think it’s on here!
Maybe I’ll have to put it on here in the upcoming weeks, but it’s a little embarrassing, LOL. Maybe I’ll get it to you as bonus content someday, LOL. We’ll see! I’ll think about editing it and getting it up!
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no worries
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