Friday, October 15, 2021

The Looking Glass Cat

The illusion of the individual ...

The lover only recognizes love,
Our masks all feel uncomfortable,
We cling to the theory of the hero

Because there is no I

But of course there's nothing else:
The consciousness disguised 
As identifiable, 

It seems to become,
Longs to belong,
Magnetizes foreign objects

Yet it has nothing for the swaying of the trees,
It cannot be the light on the leaves,
The salt in the breeze

Though of course it always is.