1
I have begun
2
The mind machine is celebrating
the anniversary of a bee sting.
The mind machine is calculating
all its hiccups, every tingle.
3
The thinnest tuft of down
in the downy pillow of a crib,
the mind machine recalls.
Every relic of the present
is made memorial of now
in matters dumb and tired.
Every fickle intention in the world,
all the moistness of the mundane
it will remember for all time.
4
Bound by wicker bends
with gracious wands
to wear the ground
in its grip:
The road is dusty and long
but something signifies:
there is another beyond
this other beyond:
Inside of everything is its opposite
reflecting back
a just certainty
with little tact, but pure:
We are woven in silk to our tips.
Every thread finds form
in the next till we stand, made
of something no longer certain:
Thanks to chaps and killhambone
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