that aging bony
ox you’re
riding has
cancer.
you know it’s
yours, but try to
disown it.
the doctors are treating
some sleepless
animal, but they
send the bills to
you.
there are many
procedures exacted upon the
body, but your
mind is already
elsewhere.
i am sitting on a
hill, overlooking the
hospital watching the
doctors
saving my
life.
or shall i more
precisely observe:
“he is sitting on a
hill ... watching the
doctors saving that
life.”?
someone,
who seems quite
agitated, keeps trying to tell
me: “you are your body.”
choirs of intellect
keep repeating to
themselves: “you are your
body.”
sometimes the
dancer is the
dance & sometimes the
pilot is the
airplane––
but other times
he just parachutes
away.